In the Rain
by Isalynna
Summary: Chapter 6: Campaign. Seriously, the longest I've ever gone between updates. Feel free to hate me for a while, then read and review! Mel embarks to save the Hill Folk, and we get to see Danric in military mode. Original characters abound.
1. Rain

In the Rain

Disclaimer: The characters and story belong to the awesomely creative Sherwood Smith, not me, of course! 

Point of View: Meliara

AN: This is an entry in The Dating Game Romance Contest, so it is a 'date' (although Mel doesn't really realize it, hehe) that Mel and Danric might have gone on. It takes place the day Mel and Danric duel at sword practice and Mel attends Petitioner's Court for the first time. At this point in the book, she has just returned to her room and read the Unknown's letter telling her the reason nothing is happening concerning Shevraeth's coronation: a goldenwood throne needs to be carved for a Queen. Now, on to the story! Yay!

- - * - * - -

I tossed the letter away from me, willing the cold ache in my heart to go with it. According to my Unknown, Shevraeth was fashioning a goldenwood throne for his future queen. The image of a crowned Elenet swirled through my mind. She will make a good ruler, I thought, trying to banish the tight, restless feeling in my chest. Graceful, capable, subdued Elenet. The perfect queen.

Rising from the cushions, I paced the length of my room and stood at the dark window. Rain was pouring down in sheets, making the little pond beneath my room splash and surge with heavy droplets. The letter, more than the foul weather, was causing my mood – but the rain certainly wasn't helping. I wanted to take a walk to sort out my thoughts and spend my energy, but in this downpour not even I could enjoy the solitude of the royal garden's hidden paths. 

Still, there was an entire palace to wander. I extricated myself from the delicate layers of my court gown and slipped into pale blue dress, pulling on some comfortable slippers before removing my elaborate headdress. My hair tumbled down my back, and I let it flow unrestrained, wishing the rest of me could feel as free. 

I walked quietly away from my rooms, trying to calm my thoughts as my wandered steps restlessly increased. 

__

Why am I feeling like this? I couldn't arrive at any answer. The thought of Elenet as Remalna's ruler was not distressing. But there would be someone next to her, as king. Shevraeth. Was he the reason for my discontent? I had finally admitted that Shevraeth would be a good king – the Petitioner's Court had provided sufficient evidence to put any lingering doubts to rest. So the fate of the government was certainly not what was bothering me. 

It had to be something else. I could feel the answer tickling the back of my mind, and I stopped in the middle of the hall, closing my eyes. Breathing deeply, I willed myself to let down the walls around my reasoning. I knew I was on the verge of understanding as an emotion flitted to the top of my mind – what was it? 

"Meliara?" 

My eyes flew open and I was jerked out of my reverie – to find myself staring directly at Shevraeth. _Where did he come from? I didn't even hear any footsteps! _Stunned, I blinked a couple times, reminding myself that this was a palace full of courtiers – I should have known I would run into one during my walk. Of course, with my luck, it had been Shevraeth, and he had even had the good timing to appear just as I was about to figure out what was troubling me. Hoping he wouldn't notice my agitation, I belatedly remembered to curtsy.

"Ah. Please forgive my indecorum," Shevraeth began, gesturing to the stack of documents in his arms. I saw that I wasn't the only one who had dispensed with my restricting Court garments – Shevraeth was now wearing a dark, comfortable tunic completely devoid of gems. _Not that his current appearance isn't admirable, _I found myself thinking. _Wait a second – this is Shevraeth I'm looking at here! Admirable? Alarming, more like._

A servant I had not noticed before was stepping forward to take the papers from Shevraeth, who bowed gracefully, sending me a politely puzzled expression. "More research? I thought all the historical preparations for Nimiar's Adoption Ball were complete." Glancing at the distinctive doorway that the servant had withdrawn into, I realized my steps had led me habitually to the library. 

"No, I was just walking and thinking. You needn't worry about me interrupting your work," I said, trying and failing to keep my voice light. I made to brush past Shevraeth and continue on my way.

"Might I make an inquiry?" he asked, barely a hint of his usual drawl in his deep voice. I grinned at him in spite of my mood.

"You just did," I replied, pleased to put that most annoying response to use. "I guess… I could grant another question, though," I said reluctantly, thinking it would be too impolite to deny any more of Shevraeth's attempts at conversation. He smiled briefly.

"Thank you. You see, I was actually not planning to work tonight, but rather, to enjoy a relaxing evening," he began, then paused for one of his assessing glances. I was sure he was noticing my uneasy stance and preparing a barrage of interrogations – and the last thing I needed was to let it slip that I knew about Elenet's goldenwood throne, which would undoubtedly lead to more questions that I wasn't prepared to answer. I braced myself.

"Would you care to share some hot chocolate?" 

I stared for a second. This was definitely not what I had expected.

"Hot chocolate?" I repeated faintly, my voice a mixture of bewilderment and relief.

"Yes. I recall my father mentioning your fondness for it during the breakfast you shared in Renselaeus."

"I – Well, yes, I like it. I suppose I would care for some," I said falteringly. _It is the civil thing to do_, I reminded myself, feeling heartened I could accept the offer without too much apprehension. I doubted if I would ever feel entirely comfortable around Shevraeth, but it had been easier to avoid quarrels for the past few weeks, and I wanted it to stay that way. "I haven't eaten since Petitioner's Court ended." 

"We must be running on similar schedules," he smiled, giving the servant reemerging from the library orders for our refreshment. I noticed that Shevraeth's gray eyes looked somehow warm and inviting when he smiled. _Warm and inviting? How did that thought get inside my head? Oh - I must be thinking of the chocolate,_ I reassured myself._ Of course. I certainly am hungry._

The servant departed, and Shevraeth gestured down the corridor, away from the residence hall and the area of the palace I usually wandered. 

"Shall we continue this way?" 

"If you wish," I shrugged, feeling him glance at me as we began our walk. 

"Did you find Petitioner's Court to you liking?" he asked. I nodded, clasping my hands happily in front of me. I had wondered if he would start interrogating me now that we were alone, but my suspicions readily evaporated.

"Yes, very much! I'm glad I finally went. I thought it was quite an intelligent way to conduct Remalna's affairs. Discussing the petitions was the most interesting part, and – " I realized I was babbling. "It was all very intriguing," I finished.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," he replied, and I glanced at him quickly, trying to divine some hidden message. His impenetrable expression told me nothing, as usual, and my eyes had soon wandered from his face. Shevraeth had a very agile walk, I surreptitiously noted, his boot heels almost as silent as my slippers on the tiled floor. _Stealthy and strong, _I found myself thinking, and quickly snatched away my gaze. _Huh! What an odd thought. The hot chocolate better get here soon – I'm getting light-headed from lack of food. That's it._

"Here we are," said Shevraeth, pulling back a tapestry for my entrance. "You've not visited here before, I believe." Having no idea where he had led me, I shook my head, stepping through the tapestry – and stopped short with a gasp of delight. The corridor was beautifully tiled and adorned, but the décor paled behind the countless paintings displayed on the walls. Portraits and landscapes extended as far I could see, with the dozen halls that intersected ours exhibiting even more works.

"The Athanarel gallery," I murmured, controlling the urge to rush forward childishly as I walked to the nearest picture. "You're right. I never had the opportunity to have a squint – I mean, a stroll, in this area." _Ugh. A 'squint'? What am I thinking? I sound like an utter rustic!_

I forced myself to examine the closest picture, staring at the painting of an elaborately jeweled man in old-fashioned clothing. The artist had captured his astonishingly pompous expression flawlessly, preserving it for the centuries. The man grinned widely with his chest puffed out haughtily, his weak chin and poor physique doing little to distract from the gaudy jewels and conceited expression he wore. 

"Quite a Court decoration, no?" Shevraeth commented. I whirled around to face him, blushing.

"I – That's not – You know I wouldn't call anyone in Athanarel that anymore," I rushed, feeling my face glow as I remembered insulting him over our campfire, so many months ago, during the rebellion. "You know I just called you that because I was ignorant, I didn't know anything about Court, I was angry – " He held up a hand to cut me off.

"You know, I really find 'Court decoration' to be quite an apt term," he said, his eyes revealing inner laughter. I was so surprised that I didn't even notice myself taking his arm until he had guided me past several more paintings. "It defines the useless aristocrat so very well," he continued. "I must profess my gratitude for the introduction to your splendid terminology." 

"Huh. Well, you're quite welcome, I suppose!" I laughed, feeling a little less tense. "So, who exactly in Athanarel would you say is 'aptly' defined as a Court decoration?" I was curious to see if I could get closemouthed Shevraeth to speak an opinion about any of his soon-to-be subjects. Naturally, the most I got was a slight raise of his eyelids and another inscrutable answer.

"I don't doubt you have to judgement to identify all the ostentatiously useless adornments to our court on your own," he replied, "although, I confess I find their wearying antics much less troubling than some by the more subtle members of the kingdom." 

I wondered who he was alluding to – Grumareth? Arthal Merinder? Azmus had recently discovered some of their suspicious activities. Or Flauvic? I couldn't think of anyone more subtle, or more unnerving – yet there was no evidence that he was involved in any plots. Perhaps Shevraeth was talking about Elenet? She was always discreet and tactful – in public. Maybe she and Shevraeth had had a fight, or something. I could see how a disagreement with one's love would cause trivial annoyances to seem far less significant. _Not that I have much experience in the matter,_ I thought, feeling slightly chilled despite the warmth of Shevraeth's arm touching mine.

"Subtle," I repeated, pulling my thoughts back to the present. "I guess it's not me you're worrying about!" I had been trying for lightness, but Shevraeth's deep laughter took me by surprise. 

"Not at the moment," he assured me. 

__

Not at the moment - so you've been concerned about me some other time? I wondered. _Recently? Why?_ My questions were again unanswerable – perhaps I was looking too hard for hidden messages. I decided to return the conversation to more discernable matters.

"Is there a specific painting you enjoy?" I asked politely. Shevraeth stopped walking and nodded to the painting in front of us in response, returning his hands to their usual thoughtfully clasped position behind his back. I stepped forward to have a look.

"Renselaeus," I breathed, easily identifying the landscape from my visit the previous year. The capital of Shevraeth's country was captured spectacularly, its castle and waterfall gleaming, the vivid colors of a sunrise reflected in the water creating a beautiful scene. "It's just like I remember it," I said, not taking my eyes from it.

"Is it a good memory?" Shevraeth asked, moving forward to stand quite close to me. 

"How could my memories of the rebellion be good?" I countered. I shook my head and turned to face him, wincing at the implications of my words. "I don't mean to say you weren't hospitable. The palace was lovely, and the food, but…"

"I understand," he said, and I could feel his gray eyes read my regret. "Those memories are painful. And… I do not wish to be the embodiment of your regrets, the reminder of actions you would rather forget. Though you see, we are not, as you assumed on your visit, enemies anymore."

"I know we're not enemies," I replied quickly. "I don't want to see you as a reminder of my regrets, either – not that I couldn't use a few strong forewarnings to prevent more of my trademark blunders." Shevraeth grinned slightly at that comment, and I was relieved to see his eyes rekindle with warmth, losing a bit of anxiety I hadn't noticed before.

"So if we are not enemies, what are we, then? I do know one thing that can aid a person who wishes to avoid future oversights, and helps far more successfully than a haunting regret," he stated, then paused. "A friend."

"I – that sounds nice, I mean – aren't we already friends – to a degree?" I sputtered.

"Your uneasiness in my presence is usually quite evident," he said quietly. "Not to mention the number of misunderstandings we've enjoyed. And we have never quite sought each other out to share hot chocolate before tonight."

"Well, yes, but – we've been doing better lately, haven't we? At Trishe's riding party, and sword practice this morning… and right now – we're friends now. And I do much prefer hot chocolate to quarreling," I added.

"I quite agree," he said, surprising me with a full, energetic smile – one that I couldn't help returning. "Speaking of hot chocolate…" I followed his eyes down the corridor and saw Shevraeth's servant approaching with a silver tray bearing two steaming mugs. Shevraeth took the drinks and handed one to me as the servant departed.

"What shall we toast to?" he asked. I quickly lowered the cup from my mouth, having forgotten the niceties. 

"Hmm… Oh! To friendship, of course!" I grinned, pleased to come up with a fitting toast. 

"To the creation of new and better memories," he returned. We both drank and Shevraeth gestured an invitation to continue down the hall. I was actually starting to enjoy the evening, I realized as we fell into step and wandered through the gallery, sipping chocolate occasionally. I didn't really notice the route we were took through the maze of pictures, trusting Shevraeth to lead the way. 

I was soon engrossed in asking questions about the paintings, which Shevraeth answered readily in his deep, melodious voice. He seemed to enjoy imparting all of his knowledge to me – well, almost all of it. At one point we passed the portrait of a stately, pale-haired lady (who had the same gray eyes as Shevraeth, I noted) and he paced by without mentioning it. I wondered if the picture was of a Renselaeus ancestor, and why Shevraeth seemed uneasy – but I contented myself to asking about the countless other paintings. 

__

That voice is more than a reward for containing my curiosity, I thought, as Shevraeth quickly regained his mild expression and murmured in his low, soothing tone about a landscape I had pointed out. I found that his presence calmed some of the nerves I had been feeling since receiving the Unknown's letter. Drifting along the gallery hall next to him, I got lost in my thoughts, some examining the surprise that I could feel comfortable around him, some pondering his amazingly handsome voice. I only jerked out of my second reverie of the night when I realized Shevraeth had stopped talking – and was sending me a considering look.

"Do the paintings not draw your interest? I don't wish to monopolize your evening. "

"Oh!" I exclaimed, "No, they do – I suppose I just enjoy the… auditory delights… more than the visual," I contrived hurriedly, hoping he wouldn't take offense for my attention lapse. 

"Yes," he said thoughtfully, "I have noticed your enthusiasm for music." I nodded in agreement to his partially correct statement. _Music, your voice – all very delightful auditory satisfaction._ "Although, I believe there are few particular paintings that would spark your interest," continued, smiling. I just looked at him, so he stepped forward and touched my shoulder lightly, turning me around. I gasped – and my mug of hot chocolate clunked to the floor – as I stared at the painting.

"She looks – she looks just like my mother," I breathed, awestruck, as I looked up an elegantly adorned queen. "The way I remember my mother, anyway," I continued, and tore my eyes away from the portrait to look at Shevraeth. He nodded, confirming my thoughts.

"Your Calahanras ancestors," he said. "Portraits of all the rulers and their family members are housed here. I thought you might like to see them." I looked at the portraits neighboring the queen and saw more people that resembled my mother, and Bran, and myself.

"You were right," I replied, taking in an amazing feeling of history and family. I was happier than I would have thought possible a few hours ago. "I – I just thank you, very, very, much. Truly." 

"You're welcome." He appeared as elated as I was – and for a second, I felt the urge to embrace him gratefully. Then, as usually happened when I was in his company, memories of some of my not-so-thankful deeds sprang to mind and I looked down, embarrassed.

"Burn it!" I groaned as my eyes fell on the chocolate stains Shevraeth and I had collected after I had dropped my mug. I picked up the mug and examined my skirt, finding that the dark stains were already drying. There was no hope for my pale gown, and I grimaced as I saw that Shevraeth's trousers were ruined as well. "I'm so sorry," I wailed. "I was just so surprised when I saw the painting, and I spilled chocolate everywhere, and I just ruined – " Shevraeth once again cut off my prattle, but instead of holding up his hand, he reached over and touched mine.

"Forget it," he said, and smiled at me with intent eyes. "You didn't ruin anything – actually, you just provided me with a very fortunate opportunity." Taking the empty mug from my hand and setting it on the ground with his, he held out his arm to me. I accepted it hesitantly – raising an eyebrow in my best questioning expression, to which Shevraeth quickly responded as he escorted me down the hall. "I've never enjoyed being shut up in the palace for days on end – usually I take a ride or a walk to get away from court constrictions," he admitted. "But the past few days the rain has been unending, and I haven't had the opportunity." We turned a corner and a door leading outside came into view. "I couldn't in good conscience put my servants through the task of drying and mending clothes damaged by the rains. However, if the clothes were already beyond repair…" 

"You could wear that waterproof cloak of yours," I pointed out. "Then the rain wouldn't bother you at all." He shook his head.

"The cloak would shield the rain, but it would also hinder the freedom." 

"So you really want to go outside in this weather?" I asked in disbelief, remembering the stormy splashing of my pond.

"The rain has abated somewhat," he replied, opening the door to reveal the dark night sky and a stream of steady droplets. He turned back to me, smiling. "Foul weather has never thwarted you before, has it?" 

I opened my mouth to argue – _yes, just the other day I couldn't bring myself to go on a walk because of this confounded rain, making me feel completely lost_ – but stopped myself. I didn't want to start an argument (or, more accurately, embarrass myself by getting angry for no reason) but I wasn't sure whether to step out into the rain or airily head back to my rooms. Glancing at Shevraeth again, I saw he was waiting patiently for my answer. I smelled the sweet rain, thought of Shevraeth's other kind gestures, and my decision was made.

"As I've already destroyed the gown, I might as well have a little fun in it," I grinned. Shevraeth held the door open for me and I stepped just outside the building, looking up at the falling raindrops. I felt his hand press gently on the small of my back, and I moved forward so that he could step out and close the door. Glowglobes along the paths brightened the night to twilight duskiness, allowing me to glance at Shevraeth as I wondered if he was truly enjoying this drenching escape.

__

How does he manage to look so kingly even when he's soaked? I mused, watching his meditative form. He stood in his usual manner, hands clasped behind him, but his eyes were closed instead of alert and assessing, and he lifted his face to the rain. My eyes traveled over his strong arms and chest, and I turned away quickly, suddenly uneasy. I focused my attention on the sensation of the rain, extending my hands to catch more of the pouring drops.

"You said earlier that you were 'walking and thinking', I believe," said Shevraeth, his voice blending with the hum of the downpour. I dropped my hands and turned to him, but he closed his eyes and again lifted his face to the sky as I did so. "Did you… come to any conclusions?"

"Not really," I sighed. "I think I was almost on to something, but then I met up with you." I wondered why he was asking – _he couldn't possibly know that I know about him and Elenet – or about goldenwood throne,_ I assured myself.

"Perhaps it is for the best," he said. I shrugged, then realized he still had his eyes closed.

"So you're enjoying the rain?" I asked.

"Its calming nature is something that I am often, of late, in need of," he replied.

"That's how I feel about the forests in Tlanth. Sometimes I wish I was still there."

"Do you desire that often?" he asked. I bit my lip before venturing anything. 

"Not often… just sometimes. When things get too hectic. Right now, though, I'm glad to be in Athanarel," I found myself saying, and realized it was true. Shevraeth finally turned to gaze at me and our eyes locked for a second, the drumming of the rain the only sound. A moment later I looked away for reasons I couldn't grasp, willing myself not to blush. 

"I profess my agreement to your sentiments – a suitable note on which to end our evening," said Shevraeth smoothly, ignoring my confusion. He looked over my head and gestured to a small path, explaining, "This should take you back to the residence hall. My own destination is in the opposite direction, but I don't doubt your ability to find the way without assistance." 

"I think I can manage," I grinned, knowing he was remembering of my fugitive trek across half of Remalna. He smiled and caught up my hand, kissing it lightly and bowing. I curtsied in return. "Thank you for the hot chocolate," I heard myself say politely, my thoughts buzzing to the feeling of his lips on my skin.

"Thank you for the rain," he replied, giving me the same casual salute he had used at sword practice that morning, and was gone. 

I turned down my path and hurried along it, soon arriving at a servant's door that serviced my grateful entry. I flew up the narrow stairs and into my room, trying not to create puddles as water dripped off my soaking gown and hair. I reached for a warm, dry nightgown to change into and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. 

I flushed – I should have known better than to get soaked in a pale gown. Not even in the relative darkness could have obscured the way the fabric was adhered to my skin._ So that's why Shevraeth kept closing his eyes,_ I realized, _he was avoiding invading my, ah, privacy. _I shook my head, trying to banish the feelings of embarrassment. _He's seen me in plenty of worse situations than a clingy gown,_ I reminded myself, struggling out of the wet garment and pulling on my nightgown. I twisted some water from my hair before slipping thankfully underneath the warm covers of my bed. 

__

It's been an odd night. I had felt restless and lost after that letter from my Unknown, which usually wasn't the case – and then I had run into Shevraeth and actually managed to enjoy his company. The portraits of my Calahanras ancestors had been just what I needed to cheer up a bit. Someday I might take Bran there, and we could look at them together – but for now, I wanted to keep my memory of the gallery, with Shevraeth, unshared. Had he really been planning not to work – or had he just cancelled his plans to have hot chocolate? I didn't know. As for that picture of the suspected Renselaeus ancestor, I decided to put it out of my mind.

I snuggled into my pillows, reviewing our conversations. I was pleased to conclude that I hadn't made a complete fool of myself, or at least Shevraeth hadn't seemed to think me one. _Why do I care what he thinks? Why do my thoughts kept drifting back to him?_ I couldn't find an answer – or more, accurately, I forced those questions out of my mind. I still had no idea what to make of Shevraeth and Elenet, or that goldenwood throne. 

In any case, Shevraeth had made me feel better. I closed my eyes and fell asleep, thinking of a deep, calming voice that reminded me of the sound of the drumming rain.

**AN: Coolness! This is like 9 ½ pages long, very long for me. Hope you liked it! If you were confused about some of the references to pictures in the gallery, go to . The snippets by Sherwood Smith were some of my inspiration: one talks about the portraits of the Calahanras royalty, and one mentions that Vidanric's great-grandmother is wearing the ring he gave Mel in her royal portrait. (Which is why he kinda didn't want to draw her attention to it, heh heh.) I just made up her description. And that picture of the Court decoration was just completely made up (funny, all the pictures Mel and Danric walk by seem to trigger memories and conversation…). Oh yeah, I didn't purposefully put Mel in a pale gown in the rainstorm (what a nightmare!) I just made it light-colored to show the chocolate stains, then I kinda thought it would be a nice way to show Danric's gentleman nature, and Mel took it in stride. Hmm… it might seem like there's a lack of fluff, but it really would've been odd if they had just started kissing or something, you know? Hopefully those tidbits of Mel's thoughts about Danric made up for it (she really can't tell she attracted to him, for some reason, I guess she just keeps pushing the realization away). Oh yeah, no one else has entered the Contest yet, have they? What's up with that? Maybe the deadline should be pushed back… or I guess it could just be looked at as a story suggestion. I must absolutely thank BlackRose25 for her awesome inspiration! Everyone, please review and tell me what you think! -Shannon


	2. Sundown

In the Rain – Chapter 2

Disclaimer: See first chapter. 

Point of View: Meliara

AN: Kudos to Master of Sarcasm, the source of inspiration leading to this AU continuation of In the Rain. Will include eventual fluff, Mel's mettlesome thoughts and denial, and all that might have happened if Mel and Danric became closer friends earlier in the book.

- - * - * - -

I slid off my horse in the shadow of the stables, a dull thump sounding as my boots met the ground. My heart pounded to a staccato beat, only faintly reminding me of the music that had recently immersed me. 

A soft nuzzling against my hand made me look down. My chestnut mare gave a soft whinny that, in my current state of mind, I could only interpret as concern. I sent the horse a shaky grin.

"You remind me of the mountain ponies in Tlanth," I muttered. "Intuitive." I sighed and patted the mare, working to marshal my thoughts into rational order. I wanted to avoid worried glances from the stablehands when I returned the horse to their care. Still, how _anyone_ could function normally, after an encounter like the one I had just had, was beyond me.

It was now sundown. I stared past the stables, not really seeing the beautiful scarlet glow. 

The day had started well.

I was finally nearing the end of my preparations for Nee's Adoption Ball and I had ridden into the city to listen to the hired musicians. Their music was serene and provocative in turns; my guests would be enjoying it in a few short days. Then on my ride back to Athanarel I had enjoyed the opportunity, for the first time in weeks, to mull over parts of my life that did not concern tartelandes, ancient fashions, or even chimerical gardens.

To be specific, I was daydreaming about the encounter I had chanced with Shevraeth a few weeks ago.

Wait a second. _Daydreaming?_

No. 

__

Examining. A much more appropriate word. 

Now then. The examination had begun with my thoughts on the most recent letter from my Unknown. The letter was characteristically enjoyable and I was looking forward to receiving the next one. The only matter that irked me about our exchange was a certain feeling I could not shake: that words were being left unwritten. 

I had been unable to come up with a suitable response to that letter concerning Shevraeth, his future queen, and the goldenwood throne. So the Unknown and I had reverted to our earlier topics of conversation, which, while enjoyable, nonetheless left me feeling as if I had briefly glimpsed some rare treasure, but had been too afraid to plunge forward and seize it.

Thinking about that letter led me to think about Shevraeth. This was a natural progression of thought, of course, as the letter had been about him. Perfectly reasonable, and my thoughts were nothing out of the ordinary. I was simply examining some of our conversations, remembering a few details. I studiously ignored the fact that the exercise was unduly agreeable. 

What I did dwell upon, somewhat, was that we had shared almost no contact in the past month. A handful of short conversations at parties and the like, but nothing particularly personal. It was just plain odd, I decided. We had toasted to our friendship; now all I felt was lonely.

I had been fully immersed in such thoughts for much of my ride home. As I reached the end of my journey, inside the gardens surrounding Athanarel, my way had led me past a certain notorious arbiter of taste. Flauvic Merinder. 

His golden eyes and matching halo of hair positively glinted in the rays of the setting sun. He was sitting at the base of a tree reading a book. But not just _sitting_, in the way the average person might. He was _lounging, _in every sense of the word_. _Arranged perfectly idyllically, positioned to showcase his physique and his beguiling, immaculate beauty. Looking utterly relaxed. Looking eminently powerful. 

In short, I slowed my horse and stared. 

And allowed for our subsequent conversation to occur, a conversation that had me now feeling like a little bird caught in a windstorm. 

As I was undoubtedly meant to feel.

I shuddered as I watched the velvety sky turn deep red and violet. I could still not put my finger on the reason Flauvic's presence had so unsettled me. Which, of course, disturbed me further. My horse chose this moment to let out a decisive whinny.

"Thank you keeping me company, anyway," I sighed. "I'll let the stablehands have you now. I should not allow… _him…_ to ruin both our days."

The mare issued another whinny, extending her neck and pricking up her ears. I finally noticed the approach of another rider and the measured sound of clopping hooves and paused, waiting to greet the fellow rider. Out of the warm glow of color appeared the man who would be the source of my second notable encounter of the day. Shevraeth, hair and clothes enticingly disarranged from his ride, swung to the ground in front of me with a genuine smile.

My recent unsettling encounter explained away my quickened heartbeat, of course.

- - * - * - - 

AN: I finally updated! I realize this was quite short - sorry! I have a whole awesome plot thought out for this story. It isn't too long and involves much fluff. I hope to write, and possibly update, frequently over my winter break. The next chapter details Mel's encounter with Shevraeth in which the plot and fluff start to take off. You will find out what all occurred between Mel and Flauvic; it is not all that traumatic, so don't worry. Mel will tell Shevraeth all that happened - I just thought it would be boring to explain it twice. -Shannon


	3. Hay

In the Rain – Chapter 3

Disclaimer: See first chapter. 

Point of View: Meliara

- - * - * - -

"It is a rare event when we both manage to get out of the palace and into the saddle," Shevraeth began with a smile. "And on a beautiful day, no less. Did you enjoy your ride?"

Dozens of replies shot through my mind, but none seemed entirely appropriate – a simple "yes" would be a blatant lie. It was all I could do to blink numbly. Maybe the rays of sunset glinting in my companion's eyes were responsible for melting my thoughts – though I could only accept that my encounter with Flauvic was causing my frozen tongue. 

"You look pale, Meliara." The smile slipped off Shevraeth's face, replaced with a sharp brow and worried eyes. "Did something happen?" 

I stared for a moment before biting my lip and closing my eyes, cursing myself. _I would run into Shevraeth, of all people, who can read my face as easily as a court document! _I wanted to forget my peculiar conversation with Flauvic and the creeping, sinking feeling the memory gave me. But I had never lied to Shevraeth before, even when I had hated him.

"Would an offer of help be entirely futile?" he tried again. I opened my eyes to see that he was gathering the reins of both our horses, his own eyes never leaving my face.

"Thank you anyway, but I'm capable of handling my own mount," I mumbled hurriedly, moving to take back my horse's reins and deliver her inside.

"The mare is not what compels my concern," he returned, captivating my eyes again within his own gray pair. I shook my head and looked down to where he held out my mare's reins, offering them to be reclaimed if I so wished. I instantly reached to take them, but both my mind and hand froze when my unaccountably shaky fingers grazed Shevraeth's warm, callused palm. After a moment he closed my fingers around the leather reins and tucked his arm under mine, carefully seeking a sign of my agreement. 

I nodded, then attempted a laugh as he guided me into the stables. Shevraeth's face relaxed a little and he quirked an eyebrow. 

"Just like at my first ball," I explained, gesturing to our linked arms. "Though the surroundings are somewhat less auspicious." I patted my mare on the nose. "At least the occupants feel less intimidating and, well, dangerous. " I glanced apprehensively at Shevraeth, who just laughed softly. 

"I agree – though I doubt every courtier would," he said, directing my gaze to the huge, powerful chargers in the nearby stalls. "Unlike Renna and her horse-mad clan, there are those in Athanarel who view their mounts only as means of transportation – or simply as perplexing beasts. They may ride well, but they never seek to understand a horse's intelligence or grace, much less see them as valuable companions." 

I smiled, remembering Shevraeth's connection with the dapple gray he often rode. A picture of his long hair tossing in the wind as we raced to Lumm surfaced in my mind. I promptly squashed it. A moment later a young stablehand hurried forward, apologizing profusely for the delay. Once our horses were munching oats contentedly, Shevraeth turned to me again. 

"Where would you like to talk? That is, if you still want to share with me what happened," he added carefully.

"Um, here is fine – I would rather not be overheard," I murmured. "That is, if you still want to listen. I mean, I'll probably end up rambling – I think it's really rather silly for me to worry you about this…"

"You can't possibly think I don't want to listen to you, Meliara. You're worried about something important – and I do value your happiness. Next time you'll simply have to create more convincing arguments if you wish to rid yourself of me," Shevraeth informed me, his mouth quirking. I could think of nothing to say to that, but I found myself smiling just a little anyway.

We walked to the far end of the stable and sank down in a clean, crunchy hay pile. It was much quieter here, with fewer horses and no stablehands nearby. Sighing, I looked at Shevraeth, who was waiting attentively. I noticed that he had the unconscious ability to look alluringly natural wherever he was, even nestled in hay. _Hold on - he's the future king and a formidable personage, not a lamb! What am I thinking? _I twitched my eyes back to the dried grass, snapping a piece under my nervous fingers. 

"I suppose I'll start at the beginning." I cleared my throat, imagining that this must be how every raw storyteller feels in front of an important audience. 

"Today I rode into Remalna-city to hear the musicians I wished to hire for Nee's Adoption Ball. They were wonderful – I was able to listen to all the centuries-old songs they'll be playing. I thanked them and then set out in late afternoon to return to Athanarel. My mare knew the way, of course, so I was letting my mind wander a bit as we came through the outer gardens. That was where I ran into Flauvic." I glanced at Shevraeth, who nodded, but didn't interrupt.

"This was the first time I've seen him anywhere besides the Merinder residence. He was sitting under a tree reading a book – a history, I think he said. It was… difficult… to get my head around what he was saying. As soon as I entered the clearing with him, I felt exceedingly strange. Even though I was on horseback, and he was sitting on the ground unarmed, I had the sense that he was holding the all power. I can't understand why I felt so helpless. I _hate_ that feeling," I muttered, drawing my knees close and clamping my arms around them. 

"Well," I added, looking up, "I guess you already knew that last part." 

"I did perceive _something_ of it during the Rebellion," he replied teasingly. Shifting slightly closer to me, he turned serious again. "So Flauvic didn't do or say anything to make you feel threatened otherwise? Did he say something that implicated treachery to you, or was it just a – for lack of a better word – pleasant conversation?"

"It was just this peculiar feeling I got from him, more than anything else. I can't really explain it," I said, frustrated. "Well, there was one thing that he said that stood out." I fidgeted, not really wanting to go on, and rearranged myself into a cross-legged position, careful not to brush Shevraeth. I could just feel his discerning stare on my reddening face. 

"Um, well, after a short while Flauvic cited duties at home and bade me farewell. As he was leaving, he said something to the effect… well, he said something like, 'I can tell you it is not going to rain tonight, but I doubt you would want to keep him waiting.' Then he smiled at me and was gone – though I still felt like a skittering squirrel for a long time afterwards." 

I had to look at Shevraeth now to see what he was thinking. For once he wasn't looking at me, but running a hand through his loose hair and staring ahead, his lips compressed. Finally he looked at me, sent me a crooked smile as his eyes traveled over my rosy face.

"I gather we've come to the same conclusions… That Flauvic was referring to me in his paltry nuance, implying knowledge of our interval in the rain that night… insinuating knowledge of a supposed courtship. So. I am responsible for your distressing encounter with Flauvic, then." I was concentrating so hard on not glowing like a Fire Stick that I nearly missed this abrupt claim.

"Responsible? How do you figure? And are you saying that Flauvic's assumption about our, um, relationship, led him to seek me out?"

"Yes. As you said, this was a rare outing for Flauvic, and he surely had a specific reason. If I hadn't invited you for hot chocolate, no one – specifically Flauvic or more likely one of his servants – would have been able to assume any kind of intimate relationship between us. There are things – political, and militant – going on, that you and most of the Court do not have knowledge of. I'm beginning to realize that I may not have all the information I need, either." 

I shook my head. "First of all, I _was_ the one who spilled that hot chocolate everywhere. And you can't blame yourself for what Flauvic or anyone else does – I mean, I still don't understand how seeing us out in a rain shower equates with a strange encounter over a month later." Shevraeth just looked at me, but then he seemed to make a decision.

"I am responsible for many things – namely, the safety of Remalna. But just as important to me is the safety of her people," Shevraeth paused, touching my arm lightly, "and this is one of many times when I believe the two will overlap. If I were to share Remalna's impending dangers with you, I know I could trust you, Meliara." I nodded, feeling weighted by the seriousness of this burden. 

He smiled. "I'm glad you chose this out of the way spot, then. Political intrigues do take a long time to explain."

- - * - * - -

Sometime later my head was buzzing with all of the privileged information Shevraeth had chosen to share with me. 

It turned out that the Renselaeus family had known of the plot between the Merinders and Grumareth for some time – the same plot Azmus had so recently discovered and informed me of. I forced myself to reveal my employment of Azmus as a spy and all our significant conversations – Shevraeth had declared his trust for me and I wasn't about to let a detail I failed to mention be the cause of Remalna's regress into tyranny. Shevraeth felt that his troops and information networks had a good handle on the Merinder-Grumareth threat – but Flauvic's motives, especially after my encounter, were another matter.

"He has not been at Court for much longer than yourself," Shevraeth said, "and has been reclusive since his arrival. I don't suppose many in Athanarel know him well. Before your encounter, I hadn't seriously contemplated any involvement from him in a plot for the crown – though I've no doubt he's intelligent enough."

"And persuasive enough," I muttered, then flushed red. Shevraeth's winged eyebrows jumped every so slightly – and the next thing I knew the whole incident was tumbling out of my mouth. 

"… And he thought I was there for, well, something else, and he kissed me – " I shuddered, then bit my rambling tongue, my feelings straddling both mortification and my own lunacy. "And I'd rather forget all what happened. And you really didn't need to hear any of that for the good of Remalna." _Quick to laugh, quick to act, and much to quick to judge – add 'to speak' to that list, and it's the complete story of my life,_ I thought, biting back a groan. _If there were a 'Speaking-Before-Thinking Contest' I'd win before the rest parted their lips!_

"No. But I am glad you felt you could trust me," Shevraeth was saying, smiling down at me. He continued the discussion, tactfully ignoring my vexingly renewed blush.

"In any case, this inept plot by his family and Grumareth does not seem like something Flauvic is likely to be involved in… Though for some time now, I haven't been able to shake the feeling that he is capable of much more than he is letting on." Shevraeth paused and looked at me intently. "Which is partly the reason I haven't continued our salute to friendship thoroughly in public, as I'm not doubtful you've noticed. I am thankful to have this opportunity to apologize and explain the motives behind my restraint."

"I did notice," I heard myself saying. "Though I've been so busy planning for Nee's Adoption Ball that I haven't had much time to ponder such things," I added, hoping it didn't sound false. 

"Your encounter with Flauvic has given weight to my earlier apprehensions. My status places those who are discerned as my friends and allies in a hazardous position, as aggressors will seek to endanger them – or tempt them to join their side." 

I groaned aloud this time. "First they think I hate you, so they try to use me against you. Then they think you're courting me, and they do the same thing! Someone needs to tell me how that's logical, for goodness' sake!" I squawked. Shevraeth's laugh rumbled like distant thunder beside me.

"You're right, it doesn't make sense at all – but there you have it." He let out a last chuckle. "I suppose that accepting the fallacy of it all will help us respond to our current dilemma. The best idea I have right now is to simply use my family's information network to descry as much knowledge of Flauvic's past as possible. I believe that will help us decipher where his loyalties lie. My men may also be able to contact your spy Azmus and exchange any worthwhile information."

"So time will tell whether my anxiety is on target… or if I've simply developed an allergy to Flauvic's presence," I said, trying for lightness, and smiled when Shevraeth laughed again.

"Until we know, we – along with the riding I've assigned to watch the Merinder residence – will just have to keep our eye on him."

"Sounds good," I agreed. "Sounds like – oh! I hadn't realized it was getting so late." Bells in the distance were chiming the hour.

"Tired?"

"Not with so much news to liven up my mind! I am a bit hungry, though. I guess I missed the dinner Mora was going to send up to my rooms."

"It seems we are in similar situations, then. Perhaps a couple of fresh pears, to tide us over until breakfast?" Shevraeth suggested, rising gracefully to his feet and dusting himself off, then offering me his hand. I took it, smiling easily for once, then began brushing away the considerable hay I'd accumulated.

"A pair of pears?" I joked. "The late hour takes the blame for any bad puns and silliness, mind you," I added, old memories and habits trying to resurface. 

"I wouldn't worry," Shevraeth said solemnly, though laughing with his eyes. "You're a picture of austerity." I looked up from brushing a last bit of hay from my riding trousers with my mouth in a surprised 'O' – before grinning widely.

"I could say the same to you," I returned, "as you've managed to get a trifle hay in your hair." I reached up instinctively, and standing on my tiptoes, plucked the scratchy hay from his hair. _Of course, I certainly did not take the occasion of proximity to note anything of his physique. And if I did, slightly, it was purely inadvertent._ I stepped back, stifling all my unhelpful thoughts – right along with any that might have spared me another embarrassment. "Can't have the future king looking like he's just had a roll in the h – …never mind," I finished, blushing furiously at the implication I had almost made. 

Shevraeth's eyes narrowed again in laughter, but he merely offered me his arm. "Shall we get those pears now?" My stomach flip-flopped as we walked out of the stables, though I couldn't imagine why. At least the playful breeze outside was cooling off my flushed cheeks. Shevraeth led the way, lit by scattered stars and glow globes. 

"There's an old pear tree just off this path," he explained, guiding me from the cleared trail through a curtain of foliage. "Russav and I used to climb it and 'appropriate' the pears, mostly to exasperate the gardeners. There should be a few early fruits, if I'm not mistaken."

"Oh!" I breathed happily when the tree came into view. "It's lovely." I stood nearly awestruck in the dim light, admiring the tall tree laden with hundreds of ripening pears. Even the scent here was heavenly; earthy and moist and sweet, just how growing things should smell. Shevraeth grinned and released my arm to select the fruits. As he walked around the tree, occasionally reaching up a long arm, a thought occurred to me.

"Shevraeth… when you met me outside the stables, what made you certain that it was not _you_ whom I was upset with? I mean, I have managed to instigate a fair number of, well, misunderstandings between us." He finished picking the desired pears and handed one to me.

"Hmm. I believe I was most greatly encouraged once I saw that no heavy metal objects were launching themselves directly towards me," he said, affecting serious deliberations, his eyes glinting. I opened my mouth, then closed it. Deciding I could play along, I cocked my head to the side musingly.

"No, I've learnt that particular method seldom works. I'm working on new tactics to solve my problems."

"Such as?" he prompted, a smile playing across his lips. 

I shrugged. "Well, just talking to you seems to get the job done." I took the opportunity to end this rather unwieldy conversation by biting into my pear; it was juicy and tart and perfectly ripe, and I said so. Shevraeth followed suit and we spent a few silent moments eating companionably, me leaning against the smooth bark of a tree trunk and he easily gripping a branch that extended high above his head.

Presently I tossed my pear core into the underbrush, where it would soon decompose or provide enjoyment for some scavenging animal, and sighed aloud, realizing it moments later.

"Everything seems to remind me of Tlanth," I explained, when Shevraeth, having already finished his own pear, moved closer to see my face. "Trips on horseback, the quiet of the trees, exploring in the – apparent – wilderness… I guess I'm getting homesick, even though I know I'll be back in the mountains in a few weeks." 

Still for a fleeting moment, Shevraeth then tenderly, deliberately, enfolded one of my hands in his larger one. I might have started at the intimate gesture – if what he said next hadn't frozen my every nerve.

"If – when – you leave Athanarel, I will no longer have the opportunity to disclose something of great significance to you, something I gained knowledge of several months ago. Something… concerning your late mother." 

I sucked in a shallow breath; shock was soon replaced with a distant ache and numbing fear. I couldn't look away from Shevraeth's face, and he slowly continued. 

"You were correct – Galdran did order her death – but there was more to the incident. Your mother left Tlanth to pursue her study of magic, to try to help Remalna. But Galdran learned of it, and saw her as a threat… I don't know if learning the reasons can help ease the pain, but they do explain why your father burned your family's library – to destroy any chance of you gaining knowledge of sorcery in the books there, to avoid a reprise of Galdran's brutality."

I nodded, throat tight, and looked away. Tears trickled down my face and I was glad of the dim light, sure that I was not one of those ladies who could cry while looking elegant. Shevraeth silently produced a handkerchief – _of course, I never discovered that I was carrying one when it proved necessary _– and passed it to me, his other hand still reassuringly closed around mine, his thumb massaging a soothing pattern into my palm.

Taking a few deep breaths, I resolutely dried my eyes, fighting the desire to either curse Galdran aloud with as many crude words as I could summon, bawl feverishly on the ground, or sink helplessly into the strong arms in front of me. Deciding not to examine why that last option seemed so appealing, I shook my head and told myself that none of those choices would really help. I was strong. And I certainly wasn't going to let hate and regret and sadness rule me.

"I'm okay," I finally managed to say, in a somewhat squeaky voice. "Thank you for telling me."

"You amaze me with your resiliency," he murmured, sending me a regarding smile. "And I should be the one thanking you, you know. For not berating me after I've kept this knowledge from you for so long. I simply could not find how to tell you – and telling your brother, and allowing him to relay the facts to you, seemed the epitome of cowardice."

I sniffed loudly, a watery grin spreading across my face as Shevraeth led me from our garden seclusion back to the path, taking a route toward the residence wing. " 'Cowardice?' You make me sound an intimidating figure to approach."

He shook his head forlornly. "Ah, you don't know the half of it. Your stiff expressions, imposing stature… not mention those legendary exploits that have more than diminished the valor of any rivals. Alas, it's enough to make any stalwart, courageous fellow envious."

"Huh. I'd like someone to point out these envious fellows to me, then," I laughed, once again surprised at Shevraeth's pleasing ability to jest. He had a strange expression on his face, but I took no note of it as I prattled on. "Besides, any 'legendary exploits' I made during the Rebellion don't hold weight here in Athanarel. Things like politics, fashion, or choosing the right words seem a thousand times harder to comprehend than simply fighting to save your own skin."

"You consistently underestimate yourself, Meliara. You've made great strides to understand Court ways, and educated yourself in nearly every area of life, save one." Our conversation had carried us into the Residence and to the servant door leading to my rooms, so I stopped, of course, looking curiously at Shevraeth. 

" 'Save one?' " I asked, perplexed. Shevraeth's face immediately smoothed into guarded blankness.

"It's not my prerogative to tell you how to manage your affairs," he said. "I apologize."

__

Drat his determined opaqueness! "If there's something important I should learn about, you shouldn't keep close-mouthed. Why won't you just tell me?" 

I saw I wouldn't get the answer I wanted when he quirked a small, provocative smile – but I hadn't expected him to counter with a question of his own. "Why won't you ever use my given name?" 

I stared. It was odd, I knew, but I could never see calling him anything except 'Shevraeth,' even while the others used his given name, and nickname, routinely._ Did it really matter that much to him?_

He appeared to take my dumbfounded silence as some sort of answer, giving his head a shake. "I'm afraid I've kept you out very late. Word will be sent to you if my contacts uncover any pertinent information. I… bid you a restful night. Sleep well." He bowed low over my hand and kissed it, just as he had done over a month ago. But as he released my hand from his, I realized that he had not had to catch it up to bring it to his lips – our hands had already been clasped. _Had we really walked the entire way from the garden hand-in-hand?_

"Good night." I swept a quick curtsy and fled to my rooms, not daring to wait for more strange occurrences.

- - * - * - -

AN: A nice, long chapter, right? I felt like I kinda rambled a bit and jumped from subject to subject too much, but I really liked writing all the dialogue anyhow. Oh yes, I realized after writing this that Shevraeth and Mel would probably both be wearing riding hats and gloves… pretend Shevraeth started a new hatless, gloveless fashion. Yeah. That's it. Also, do they even measure time in months? I doubt it. 

A huge thank you to Aeriel Ravenna, legofiance, FelSong, Black Rose25, Squirrel Maiden of Green, Master of Sarcasm (Danric-Lover!), Margery, and Queen's Own, who all took pity and reviewed the extremely short second chapter without being asked. Go you! …This time around, however, I have devised an evil plot to garner reviews! Wahaha! I have Chapter 4 pretty much all written, nice and long, just a couple things to revise. Part is from Danric's POV! I am planning to post it within 10 days – but – if I get 18 reviews (why 18? I like the number 18!) I will post it immediately thereafter! So, if you want it posted sooner, spread the word and review! –Shannon


	4. Apart

In the Rain – Chapter 4

Disclaimer: See first chapter.

AN: First of all, a sincere, huge, enormous, yelling 'Thank You!' to every single person who reviewed. You are all my heroes!

Please bear with me, awesomely loyal readers! I want this story to have a plot, and not to just be a fic that just says, "Mel saw the portrait. Gasp! Danric showed up for reasons unspecified. He read Mel's face. Mel knew she loved him. [Insert long kissing description.] End." Those fics are really quite enjoyable, but in this case I thought that because Danric did not court Mel in the book for specific reasons, him changing his mind in this fic would have repercussions on the plot, and I wanted to write about those, as well as the lovely fluff. Danric will talk about why he did not 'make a move' in the last chapter in his POV section.

Fair warning: Do not despair! Fluff will soon arrive. I have about 3 scenes containing major fluff planned for future chapters. This chapter, however, Does Not Contain Any Fluff Whatsoever! It is extremely Plot-Based! Sorry! (The next chapter, I promise, is the big fluff moment.) 

Point of View: Vidanric! (For the first bit, then it switches to Mel.)

- - * - * - -

I stood there staring at the fluttering tapestry she had disappeared behind. It slowly swayed to a halt, a strange contrast to Meliara's abrupt exit.

Trying to stifle melodramatic feelings and comparisons involving myself and the limp, wavering piece of fabric hanging in the doorframe, I turned and began the walk to my rooms. The long, narrow servants' hall was anything but grand, but it would take me directly to my chambers, and I cared for nothing more at the moment. At intervals I glimpsed runners waiting in shadowy alcoves, all of who bowed or made a sign of acknowledgement. Not that I was in any frame of mind to appreciate their loyalty. 

Eventually I got enough control over my ranging emotions to consider the events of the night. Flauvic's surfacing attempt for power, if our suspicions were correct, seemed a mere nuisance to my lovesick spirit. I wouldn't deny it – except perhaps to the one it counted with – I was completely struck with Meliara. All my spies and troops and servants would be there to aid me in putting down a hostile takeover of Remalna's fledgling government – but no one could help me in the most important challenge of my life: gaining Meliara's love.

It had been pure coincidence that I had met her after my ride. I could hardly believe, smiling at her in the light of the setting sun, that fate had handed me such a precious gift. My second chance in weeks to be alone with her – to show her I wasn't the foppish, deceitful, avaricious scoundrel she had seen me as during the Rebellion.

I could almost believe she saw me differently now – I wanted to believe – but after so many months, it still seemed unreal that our companionship had flourished tonight. 

Not that the more desolate moments of our time seemed faraway; they settled heavily in the pit of my stomach. _She had exited so suddenly – did she regret her time with me? Life – why had I been compelled to hint that she was pushing away a (thankfully) unnamed type of knowledge with both hands?_ I hadn't wanted to part company on such a note, but I was never really in control of a situation concerning Mel. Her way of thinking was so free and intuitive; I was always wondering what she would pipe up with next.

My riding boots made a familiar tap on the stone flags as I tried to thrust my troubled thoughts away. I was probably being overly anxious, not to mention maudlin – as Russav helpfully pointed out on the occasions I sought his advice. To cheer myself I recounted some of the more gratifying events of the evening.

She _had_ spent an entire candle in my company, alone, and in apparent contentment – a great leap from the distant exchange of letters I was usually confined to. 

She had laughed, and smiled, and discoursed with me on all range of topics, including personal matters. Not that it had been exactly… _pleasant_… to hear a description of Flauvic enjoying an attempt to entice her. I had long been aware of his motives, but I hadn't known that his efforts had progressed to such lengths. The fact was even more galling when I compared it to my own abysmal record with her. It had been challenging to simply complete a whole conversation without an argument, let alone…

__

Still, tonight was a great improvement, I reminded myself. _Rush things and she won't hesitate to put me in my place… as she did with Flauvic._ I smiled crookedly at the thought. Returning to my recounting:

She had reached up, and well, _groomed_ me in the stables. Close enough for me to feel her warmth, admire her rosy face. I doubted she realized that whenever she performed her two most habitual acts – laughing and blushing – I was utterly stunned by her beauty. It was not simply a love of her appearance, but also her spirit.

She had even let me hold her hand as I told her about her mother's death, and I had kept it firmly clasped in mine all the way back to the Residence. In the garden all I wished was to draw her to me as she cried, enfold her tiny form in my arms, and kiss every tear from her face.

But the logical part of me couldn't allow this. She had been in enough emotional turmoil for one day. It simply felt _predatory_ for me to draw her out into the darkness of a silent garden, swoop in on the heels of several unsettling experiences, and play savior with my lips. And, supposing she wouldn't have succumbed hazily to the only form of comfort available, I would have added one more bad memory to her already wearying day. Not to mention summarily ending any chance of winning her acceptance, or love.

No, I had made the right decision to keep silent, for now. She would still not even call me by given name – I had just received solid proof of that particular barrier. Her formality stung just a little, but I hoped that it was perhaps simple habit.

Nearing the end of my walk, I surprised myself by chuckling aloud to the deserted hall. Though Meliara was one of the cleverest people I knew, despite her lack of formal education, she could be incredibly naive. She saw our two intervals alone together as merely friendly – if that – outings. Everything a courtship encompassed had been there tonight – time alone, laughter, the sharing of thoughts, problems, and food, even physical contact (albeit pure hand-holding). Everything except Mel's recognition. 

I _was_ courting her, through letters, and now, though I was careful not to indicate it overtly to her, through any chance time alone together. My only regret (aside from our many past misunderstandings) was that my advances now seemed to be pulling Mel into the path of danger. Now my duty was not only to gain her love, but also to protect her from the harm that steadily approached.

I reached my rooms and entered; seeing my arrival, my personal servant jumped to attention. "No need for formalities now," I directed him, descending into my sober reality. "I need you to deliver several messages as soon as I pen them. There's much to be done."

- - * - * - - * - - * - * - - * - - * - * - - * - - * - * - - * - - * - * - - * - - * - * - - * - - * - * - - * - - * - * - - * - - * - * - - * 

Point of View: Meliara

- - * - * - -

I stayed abed late the next morning. After waking unwillingly, I lay half-dozing, listening to Mora bustle around the room as I thought about the previous night's events. All the emotions from yesterday that I had avoided in sleep came crowding back: confusion and helplessness in Flauvic's presence, sorrow at learning the unfair reasons for my mother's death, and a whole batch of fluttering feelings when I regarded my time with Shevraeth. There had been moments, when we had both let down our guard down, that being near him had felt… 

I sprang out of bed, harnessing my suddenly jangled nerves into productive energy. After asking Mora to bring a big – and very late – breakfast up to my rooms, I hurried through my bath and dressed quickly. I picked a gown of light green, with intricate silver stitching decorating the bodice and wide floating sleeves that fluttered in the scarcest cool breeze. I slipped on my lovely sapphire ring out of habit, and added a silver bracelet to complete the motif. 

Mora returned shortly with a tray filled with fresh food and drink, but put it aside and bade me sit while she combed and dressed my hair. She deftly twisted and secured two small sections behind my ears with jeweled pins, leaving the rest to hang free. Retreating to the bedchamber to tidy up, she left me to dine alone in the sitting room, feeling a great deal calmer thanks to her efforts.

As I slowly made me way through the food, the only thoughts I allowed myself were guilty pangs – I had missed a planned breakfast with Nee and Elenet. I was listlessly popping the last sweet berry into my mouth when a soft knock sounded at my door. Nee poked open the tapestry with a hesitant finger, then smiled when she saw me, looking relieved.

"I thought something worrisome might have happened," she smiled, coming to sit next to me on a cushion. "I hadn't seen you all yesterday, then you missed breakfast with Elenet and I."

I winced. "I'm sorry if I made you fret," I sighed. "Elenet wasn't offended that I overslept, was she?"

"She was quite understanding; I wouldn't expect anything less from her. When I stopped earlier Mora told me that you didn't return from Remalna-city until late and that you were still sleeping. Did it take a dreadfully long time to hire the musicians?"

"No, the musicians will be lovely for your Adoption Ball! As soon as I heard them, I hired them straightaway," I assured her. Then I continued, in as factual a tone as possible, "I returned late because I met Shevraeth at the stables and spent the remainder of the evening with him."

Her eyes widened by a marked degree. "Vidanric?"

I groaned. "Yes, him. Please, don't look at me like that."

She blinked innocently, reminding me of an alert kitten. "Like what?" 

"Like you're jumping to conclusions. I admit, he's not as bad as I made him out to be, but you can't possibly think anything like _that._"

Nee opened her hands her hands in a placating gesture, though I thought I noticed a smile tugging at her mouth. "Of course not. I'm just glad you're getting along – I wouldn't insinuate '_that._' And I certainly don't mean to pry. But…?" She looked desperately curious. I wanted to snort – _What could she see as so interesting about Shevraeth and I being friends?_

"We just talked about a few… political matters," I said, not feeling up to explaining the whole Flauvic incident. I wasn't at all sure what to say about the secure information Shevraeth had privileged me with. I continued lightly, "I managed to embarrass myself a few… dozen… times in the process, of course. And then… well, it turns out Shevraeth was able to learn the reasons behind my mother's death, and he told me."

Nee gasped softly. "Oh, Mel…" Her eyes looked pained and rather helpless.

"It's okay," I said, quietly but firmly. "She's been gone a long time now. Knowing the whole story helps a little, I guess. Knowing that she was trying to aid Remalna. Anyhow, Shevraeth told me very kindly. Lent me a handkerchief, one of those spelled ones from Renselaeus. I'll have to remember to give it back to him."

"Does Bran know… what you learned?"

"Not yet. Shevraeth hadn't told anyone except me, and I haven't even seen Bran since then." 

She reached over and patted my hand. "If you want to tell him now, I'll help you round him up, and then you two can spend the afternoon together."

I stood up, relieved to have something to busy myself with, even if it was sorrowful. "Thanks," I said gratefully, then glanced back at my bedchamber. "Hold a second, I want to nab that besorceled handkerchief so I can return it to Shevraeth if I see him."

Nee followed me into the now tidy, deserted bedchamber. I frowned, looking at the empty spot where I had dropped the cloth on a bureau. "It was here… maybe Mora put it away with my others." I fumbled with the handles of the bureau, eventually finding my pristine, unused collection of handkerchiefs in a shallow drawer. Brushing my fingers among them, I plucked out Shevraeth's and tucked it under my bracelet. Covering it all with the long sleeve of my gown, I turned to go.

Nee hesitated to move, looking at me with an odd expression. "Mel, how exactly did you know which one it was?"

I paused, then pulled the handkerchief out again. "I don't know. This one is different from all mine."

"But… they're all plain and white, finely made. All clean, too, because the besorceled one never gets dirty."

"They must be woven of different fabrics then. Different textures."

She reached out and fingered a handkerchief from the drawer, then the one in my hand. "They all feel the same to me," she said, perplexed. I copied her motions. The other cloths felt smooth and fresh, just like the one in my hand, but lifeless. The one I knew was Shevraeth's almost seemed to hum when I touched it. _Why couldn't Nee tell the difference?_ It seemed straightforward to me, even if I couldn't exactly explain it.

"Here," I said, and wiped a berry-stained finger on the cloth in my hand. The colored juice promptly faded back into a crisp whiteness. I shrugged, tucking the handkerchief away again. "Shall we go hunt up Bran?"

- - * - * - -

My brother was soon located, banging about his rooms after refreshing himself from sword practice. Nee exited quietly once her aid was complete, fearing intrusion on our old grief. I then slowly relayed the events of so many years ago to Bran. The words came easier than I had expected. He had always been easy to talk to – or argue with, as the case sometimes was. We both made it through the emotional maze well; I only resorted to my borrowed handkerchief once this time. Bran hugged me tightly afterwards, drawing himself up in his role as elder brother, which I supposed helped him keep his solidarity. 

"I'm proud of you," he said finally, after measuring that my ribs had been sufficiently crushed. "You've the strongest will I know – and stubbornness comes in mighty handy at times like this. And you even made your peace with Danric!"

I nodded and shrugged, then reminded him of my offer to show him the portraits of our Calahanras ancestors in the gallery. As I couldn't remember their exact location, they took a while to find, but we passed the time reminiscing about Tlanth and planning things to do once we returned. Bran thoroughly enjoyed the portraits, when we finally stumbled upon the right gallery row, though he wasn't nearly as awestruck as I had been. Still, it was fun watching his reactions as he peered at the ancient faces, comparing them to our own before remarking on the old-fashioned hair and clothing depicted.

Just before we parted company in the late afternoon he voiced something I had overlooked. "So… If Mama was learning sorcery, does that not mean you might also have a lick of talent for it? Mages – they're mostly women, aren't they?"

"I suppose so," I murmured.

He bid me farewell with another fierce hug, and a kiss on the top of my head, then darted off to snatch up Nee for a quiet dinner. I declined to join them, electing to explore the rest of the gallery instead. Not expecting to stay in Athanarel much longer, and possibly never to return, I knew I owed it to myself to experience everything possible here in my last days.

Walking slowly up the wide halls, I took note of the care and artistry that had gone into every part of the gallery. The magnificently tiled floors and high ceilings were enduring monuments to the creators' skill and workmanship. It was hard not to feel small, looking up at the priceless works displayed on the walls; for a time I was lost with a sudden sense of my own insignificance in the vast realms of history.

Most of the paintings were portraits, with a few landscapes and renderings of important historical events interspersed. The largest portraits were huge, grandiose affairs, the subjects even larger than life size, and it was one of these that brought me out of my reverie. I had been walking a random, winding path, enjoying the color and shadow and realism of each ancient scene. The simple pleasure of beauty suspended any need for higher analysis – until I turned a corner and found myself staring into a pair of familiar gray eyes.

I blinked and squinted – it was hard to believe those eyes were not as real and alive as my own. They were painted to glint and captivate and they stared at the observer wherever he walked. From the eyes my surprised gaze widened to the impenetrable face, and from the face to the rigidly posed body of a stately, middle-aged lady in the dress of several generations past. 

The prickly feeling of a half-forgotten memory crept over me. _Why is this painting so familiar?_ _Wait… This is the portrait Shevraeth paced by silently on my first visit to the gallery!_

Intrigued, I took a step back and lifted my chin to survey the whole picture. The woman wore a voluminous gown of muted lavender, painted before the background of a blue-gray window hanging that edged the pale sky beyond. Some miniscule engravings on the gilt bluewood frame caught my eye, and for a moment, my gaze left the woman to read the tiny curling words, which told her rank, and name, and family. I glanced quickly over them, then faltered. With a sudden jump of my eyes, realization jostled its way into my crowded, standstill mind. 

Renselaeus. _So this woman _was_ an ancestor of Shevraeth's!_

The portrait's eyes seemed to glint down at me in amusement. _Same expressions, then. Perpetually laughing eyes and a face as blank as rice paper. Wish I could have inherited something useful like that, not just a quick temper and no height. At least I got Mama's hair. And maybe what Bran said about Mama passing down her magical ability is true…_

My eyes drifted idly over the picture, traveling from the lady's stiffly styled hair, to the intricate embroidery lavishing the bodice and sleeves of her gown, to her lightly folded hands, finally resting on the shining ring on her finger. 

If I could say that I realized immediately what the importance of the ring was, and where I'd seen it before, and how everything fell neatly into place in my mind, I would. In reality, I simply stared absently for a long, pointless moment, pondering the cut and the glitter and the sapphire color. I wasn't anticipating a revelation.

Of course, just a bat of an eye later, one came anyway.

Not even, mind you, one of those slow, pleasant conclusions one feels gratified to have discovered. It was more akin to being wakened from a cocooned slumber by a torrent of drenching, glacial water. As the hurtling comprehension struck my mind, my eyes darted between the ring on my finger and the one in the portrait, never quick enough to end the reeling in my head. 

I lifted my shaking hand and held it unsteadily next to the lady's. My ring, and this woman's ring, were identical. _So my ring, at one time owned by the Unknown, was once also owned by this woman..._ There was no other explanation; I knew that family rings were unique, passed down as treasured heirlooms through the generations. _This woman was a Renselaeus, so she would of course pass it down to…_

I gulped, trying not to sink (or crash, more like) to the floor. _Shevraeth._

Being caught by the ankle in a steel trap was one thing. This was entirely more intense – akin to what I imagine being blindsighted by a galloping charger is like. It certainly didn't help that the small, denial-free part of my mind was screaming that everything now made perfect sense, that I was a fool for not guessing. 

__

That's why he didn't point out this picture. He was the Unknown – and probably the only man I never suspected.

Now images spun through my mind: the Shevraeth of the Rebellion, his face bland but never scornful; the long black riding cloak and yellow hair flying beside me on our race to Lumm; the Unknown's many letters to me hidden away in the box in my bedchamber; his face last night, full of laughter and tenderness and… 

My feet abruptly started moving. I couldn't take any more suspense, any more mysteries or closed faces or hidden feelings. Paintings flashed by in a blurry world unconnected to my own – all I cared about was finding _him_ and finding what all this meant to _us._ My slippered feet darted across the tiles, heavy air billowing back my gown and hair as if to thwart my steps – but in a flash I stood in the library, before the tapestry to the memoir archive. Only my thundering heartbeat convinced me that all this was real, not some absurd dream.

I hesitated, then blazed through the tapestry barrier, unplanned words about to spill from my mouth – when I nearly choked in surprise.

I was staring at a stout, middle-aged man who looked vaguely familiar. Dressed in the fine servants' garb of the Renselaeus family, he adeptly smothered his surprise at my entrance with a bow and a polite, "Countess." Pausing in the act of arranging a stack of papers, he deferred his full attention to me. "Do you require anything, my lady? If not, I will leave the archive to you."

"I – Might you know where I could find the Marquis?" I rushed, stumbling over half the words in my confusion. _Where could he be?_

The servant's eyes seemed to glint for a moment before deepening soberly. "My lord is inaccessible at the moment," he said in an undertone – so low that I thought he suspected eavesdroppers. Something in his voice seemed to hint of regret, and then he paused again, waiting intently for any further requests.

I shook my head, nerves rattled and confusion mounting. I just knew I couldn't stand here gaping at this intent, receptive man anymore – my skittering thoughts all wanted to tumble from my lips into the ear of the nearest listener. Instead, I clamped them tightly within me, willing myself to take leave of this meeting with normalcy. "Could you – he lent me this handkerchief," I explained, pulling it from my sleeve and holding it out. "Could you please see that it is returned to him?"

The servant nodded and took the handkerchief and I was soon alone again, weaving through the halls to my rooms. I barely noticed where I was headed, my mind again suspended in chaos, my stomach twisting like a pit of snakes. _Is this what one is supposed to feel like when in…? _I swallowed, not even able to put the name to my feelings. 

The small part of me that wasn't consumed in turmoil was reserved for the one whom I would either adore, or blame, for initiating all this. A single question repeated over and over in my mind: _Where is he?_

My rooms had never looked more like a sanctuary as I batted aside the tapestry and entered the familiar surroundings. I was about to retreat to my bedchamber and sink into the undoubtedly fitful slumber that awaited me – when a distinctly unfamiliar paper on my writing desk caught my eye. In a quick movement I had caught it up and seen that it was no letter from my "Unknown." It was unsealed, written on my own paper in a familiar slanting hand. Though the writing was somewhat scrawled, my heart leapt with recognition, and I carefully read the few lines.

__

Meliara – 

Your help has proved invaluable. 

The latest reports have invoked my presence – I must depart with haste and discretion. Please relay my sincerest apologies for my absence at tomorrow's festivities.

Stay alert. And please – stay safe. 

There was no more, not even a signature, but everything I needed was right there in that short note. I realized that he had probably come to tell me the news while I was in the gallery with Bran; we had just missed each other. He couldn't leave all the details on this note, nor did he have much time, but he had still made sure to pen me a short goodbye. 

Though all I knew were these few facts, and my head buzzed with other questions and worries, a small, warm calm descended in my middle. I knew one thing for certain, something I realized he might have been hinting at the night before. I smiled to the empty room and embraced this new reality with a soft, sure whisper. 

"_Love_."

- - * - * - -

AN: First, thanks to my awesome reviewers! I formally thank you all, listing your names here as an eternal testament to your greatness: Queen's Own, Squirrel Maiden of Green, Danric-Lover, Autumn Faery, Dumbledore's Heir, Wake-Robin, Mooseyfate, Maria, FelSong, legofiance, Black Rose25, Aeriel Ravenna, Margery, Sherlock, StarGirl98, I-Love-Sev, Iyoku_chan, and Anonymous (x3! Sneaky!). 

Next, sorry if this chapter was a letdown. I hope it wasn't, even if it didn't contain any fluff. That's next chapter, I promise. I hope you liked Danric's thoughts, and Mel's as she had her big epiphany. That was important for me to write well. I'm afraid I have to admit that I have Absolutely None of the next chapter done! Gah! Obviously, I have planned what will happen, but it is not written. So I can't torture you with review demands this time (though reviews _are_ extremely encouraging, hint hint). Ahem: I solemnly swear I will update ASAP! -Shannon


	5. Magic

In the Rain – Chapter 5

Disclaimer: See first chapter.

AN: Yay! Another chapter! The Big Fluff Moment! But first, I must note that I am using the name 'Sirkar' for Danric's servant, which I got from Blazing-moon's The Brilliant Dance. If you haven't read that story yet, read it, it is awesome!

- - - - -

Point of View: Vidanric (A short bit, it soon switches to Mel.)

- - - - -

I swung out of the saddle and dropped noiselessly to the ground beside my mount. My riding hat hid my eyes as they darted here and there around the village's dark pavilion; I strained my ears for a moment more and heard only the hard breathing of my charger.

Satisfied that I was the only thing astray in this little town, I had soon given the charger into the sleepy care of a young stablehand – who became the first person in months that hadn't made some deference to my status. For a moment the whole slogging trip seemed worth it, just for that refreshing feel of anonymity, helped along by my riding cloak and hat.

I changed my mind as soon as I entered the rendezvous point, the village's quiet, dimly lit inn. The main room, to my tired eyes, was strikingly similar to the one in Lumm, if one disregarded the fact that it was empty for the night instead of bustling. Thinking of the inn at Lumm made me think of Mel… or maybe it was the other way around. I really was tired.

The innkeeper, a man robust yet soft-spoken from years of necessity, emerged to still these thoughts and lead me to a small room. He left me with the promise of listerblossom tea, his thick frame padding out quietly so as to disconcert my tired mind. I gave my head a shake, tossed my hat and cloak away, and let myself sink slowly onto the nearest cushion.

At least my jarring, blazing gallop of a ride was complete. I smiled faintly as I thought of my words to Mel, not two days ago: "It is a rare event when we both manage to get out of the palace and into the saddle." What I wouldn't give to be back in that palace with her right now.

Instead, I had gotten a season's worth of riding time in the short hours since word had arrived from one of my contacts. It had been late afternoon, and the letter had arrived at the chambers where my parents and I had been methodically discussing tactics. My father merely pursed his lips when I had finished reading it aloud; we all knew that I would have to leave immediately.

The letter was just that urgent. Thankfully, it also brought the promise of our single clue to exposing Flauvic's true motives: my men in a city north of Athanarel had discovered one of his old acquaintances, a former page in the Sles Aldran court who had been sent home in disgrace before his training was complete. He was now in virtual exile from his family and home, traveling through Remalna to fill his days. The mere mention of Flauvic's name had been enough to secure the man's testimony, and with my troops as escort, he was now set to meet me within the time-change.

The tapestry whispered open and the innkeeper reappeared, carrying a steaming mug in one large, careful hand. Glancing at my expression, he set it wordlessly down and left me.

With nothing now to do but wait and drink the invigorating tea, my thoughts wandered back to Meliara. My parents undoubtedly knew she was the one I had gone to see while my servant, Sirkar, packed a hasty saddlebag. It was one of those times I was thankful for that trait of tact both my parents seemed to personify – they had asked no questions, just let me go.

In the end, I hadn't found Mel in her rooms. Of course. She knew better than to squander her – presumably – final days in Athanarel there. So I had written her a scrawling note with her own pen and paper, dismissing any considerations about disguising my handwriting. If she made the connection… well, I would surely hear about it when I got back.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Point of View: Meliara

- - - - -

Scattered rays of light bounded and flashed from my sapphire ring all the next day. I felt like one of those rays of light, darting around the ballroom to oversee the last of the preparations for Nee's Adoption Ball. There were performers to greet, servants to direct, details to oversee – life would not stop in its tracks just for my discovery. I had spent the previous night trying not to worry about a certain absent Marquis' safety, while contemplating a course of action to take when said individual returned safely to Athanarel – but both efforts had proved entirely fruitless.

"Countess! Is this to your liking?" Snapping to the present, I spun around to see a young servant gesturing anxiously to some cushion arrangements. I nodded and smiled, then clapped my hands together as I surveyed the ballroom.

"Everything looks lovely! The guests of honor will be sure to enjoy your work tonight," I told the servants and performers. They smiled or nodded or bowed at the compliment, and I was soon flying off to dress for the evening.

It seemed just moments later that the ballroom bustled with delighted guests. Exquisitely costumed, they filled the dance floor, chattered happily about Bran and Nee's upcoming ceremony, and praised everything from the unique decorations to my choice of entertainment. Surveying the bubbling room, I didn't notice Flauvic's presence next to me until he spoke.

"Finally enjoying one of your triumphs, I see."

I started in spite of the silky tone he used. Turning, I scrutinized him through narrowed eyes, hoping I would find in his face some justification for the prickly danger feeling he induced in me now. There was nothing, of course, but blank politeness and a gentle smile framed by that golden hair. Not to mention the rest of his handsome personage, clad in striking black and white.

We exchanged a few comments of greeting while I wondered when exactly he had arrived and, more importantly, how I could remove myself from his vicinity. The memory of our strange meeting in the gardens was still raw, although he did not refer to it. I steadied myself with the thought that he would very unlikely reprise it here in the crowded ballroom.

Finally, I was able to sweep a curtsy that implied farewell. "A triumph through your eyes is a true compliment. I thank you."

I turned to go, but a half smile formed on his perfect lips. "Ah, Countess. You cannot tell me you are so blind to all your recent successes," he said. Curiosity stayed my wary feet, while Flauvic, who never endured such indecision, merely leaned forward across the pace or so between us.

"Or perhaps you are so not blind after all," he murmured, his coin-glinting eyes quite close to mine. "After all, you can't see what is not there… and he does seem to be absent tonight, does he not?"

I opened my mouth to reply – though I had no idea with what – just as a carrying voice rang out behind me. "Meliara! You simply must grant me the honor of a dance with the season's most sensational hostess."

Whipping around, I found Savona smiling down at me and offering his arm. I seized it gratefully and mumbled some parting words to Flauvic, whose eyes suddenly reminded me of the placid, gleaming surface of deep water.

Savona swept me gallantly across the floor and into the next dance, busying my mind all the while with compliments even more frivolous than his usual. It wasn't until we neared the end of the song, when the dance's steps distanced each pair from its neighbors, that he revealed his true motive. Leaning close when the dance permitted, he murmured rather tersely, "Did Danric not put you on your guard? Don't tell me you still do not trust his judgment."

This may have been the first serious utterance I had ever heard from Savona, but I didn't take the time to marvel at it.

"Why! I do – but how do you mean – on my guard?"

He let out a breath at this, then shook his head. "Danric sent me a note before he left – I thought he sent one to you as well."

"True enough. But mine said nothing very… specific. About the reason he left, I mean," I rambled, then immediately hoped that Savona would not think to long on the significance of my words. "What did you learn from yours?" I added quickly.

"Not much. Just that he was riding out and that the situation is turbulent. The postscript was the most ominous – a vote of distrust against Flauvic. Danric doesn't make such statements lightly. I took it to heart, clearly."

I nodded as we stepped through the last measures of the dance. We exchanged compliments of parting, but my tone flat was with preoccupation. Savona paused and looked at me keenly.

"Nothing awry – besides the obvious – I trust?"

I waved a hand. "I'm trying to focus on being a good hostess for Bran and Nee, making tonight one of their happiest – but my thoughts just want to keep scampering off." I glanced down at my ring for a moment, ruefully, and looked up to see a shrewdly pleased expression on Savona's face.

"Scampering off to be with the one who sent you that ring, perhaps?"

I blushed hotly in reply – at which Savona grinned, looking as boyishly pleased as I had ever seen him.

"Perhaps," I said quietly, smiling just a little. With one final grin and a salute Savona left me alone, for which I was thankful. Retreating in quick order to the refreshments, I wondered improbably if half the court would know about my change of heart before the evening was over.

At the serving table I didn't find the solitude I had hoped for – but the information I would next receive would more than make up for it. Accepting a glass of bluewine with gratitude, I turned to see Elenet not far off, sipping a drink of her own, and gazing absently at the dancing couples. Like a tidal wave, all the emotions regarding this thoughtful, discreet lady, the future king, and the goldenwood throne – as mentioned in the letter from my "Unknown" – came rushing back to me. I swallowed, and having not yet conversed with her during the evening, made my way over.

"Elenet," I began, curtsying in the proper manner. "I do hope you're enjoying yourself tonight."

She smiled gently. "It is a lovelier night than one can often expect, even in as grand a place as Athanarel."

I thanked her warmly; her words were always heartfelt and carefully spoken. After a few minutes of discourse on the general amusements of the evening, I found that Elenet and I were on as cordial terms as ever, though she did seem a bit more downcast than usual.  Having not made any great discoveries to settle my thoughts on the situation concerning the throne, I resolved to let everything be. I would simply not think of anything except Bran and Nee's happiness until their ball – until their wedding, even – was happily concluded. With this in mind, I was about to say farewell to Elenet and circulate, when she stopped me with a word.

"Danric – " 

I spun to face her and she began again, in a quick, soft voice. "He isn't here tonight, but I know he would be, if he could. He told me – he said that, for him, every other preparation might as well be forgotten, as he would… He would come solely to see if you would assent to one dance with him." Her fingers played over her fan involuntarily, though she made no move to alter her words with it. "I couldn't have you think ill of him for not coming."

I took a deep breath, then said quietly, "I've made that mistake before – I won't again. Not ever." She smiled, a small smile. I knew she understood everything – probably better than myself, or her friend, at this point. I shook my head, and curtsied, and continued to murmur my thanks even after she had walked away.

- - - - -

The remainder of the evening past with swift joy. The guests marveled at the lithe scarf dancers and the ancient songs; soon I was bidding them all a restful sleep. The Prince and Princess were some of the first to leave, making particularly courteous compliments and seeming to glance at me with a new, subdued intensity. I shrugged at this, reckoning that everything seemed alternately intense and hazy when one hadn't slept for a few too many candles.

The gray sky was just beginning to lighten with the palest pink tinge in the east as the last guests disappeared. Fresh servants busily began the clean up, and memories were soon the only evidence of the night's happenings. At the grand open doorway I looked back once more on the dissolving picture of one of my most memorable nights in Athanarel – and felt a hand flit out of the stillness to touch my arm.

I yelped and sprang away, heart racing and an inarticulate gasp on my lips, only to turn and look into a certain pair of gray eyes just as shocked as my own. The accompanying hand retreated hastily.

Rather hoarsely, Shevraeth began, "I didn't intent to – "

"You've returned – already!" I interrupted. No worries of failed decorum could squelch my enthusiasm. Tingling happiness flooded me, a feeling I knew to be mutual, despite the weariness and stress that strained his smile.

"I hoped to find you here." He motioned quickly down the side of the stone building. There, a dusty riding, a stranger clad in earth-tones, and Azmus – _Azmus?_ – were waiting. He looked back at me intently. "We've just arrived. There have been no disturbances in the city, the court?"

I shook my head distractedly. "No, as far as I know. What's happening?"

His eyes raked the landscape before returning to mine. "Suffice it to say, you've a powerful intuition. The stranger with us there is Maro Drabel – he's told us more than enough to warrant a small confrontation with Lord Flauvic. I was afraid – "

A muscle in his jaw jumped as he looked at me. "It's magic, Mel. Dark magic. Flauvic can threaten the whole of Athanarel, even Remalna. That's what you picked up on. We must get to him, immediately."

For a moment my racing mind worked to take this in. But there was only time to accept it – so I tried to think quickly. I offered, "Flauvic left the party at the same time as the other guests – I can only assume to return to the Merindar house."

Shevraeth gave a short nod, and then signaled the riding leader, who waited a discreet distance away. In a flurry of movement the riding was geared up and in formation to move. Azmus and Drabel dismounted and made their way stiffly toward the building. Watching them, I sensed eyes studying my face.

I glanced up, and Shevraeth said, "Please see to Azmus and Drabel, Mel. They'll be able to tell you the rest – but we have to move."

"You're leaving me behind?" I squawked in disbelief.

He looked down. "It's dangerous. Especially for you. Heart doesn't count when your opponent has none at all." He glanced at the ridings' horses as they whickered nervously, then back at me. "Will you take them up to my chambers and wait?"

The feeling of a knot twisting itself tight behind my navel intensified – but I bit my tongue and nodded.

"Thank you," he said. "My parents will most likely join you before I return."

He strode to his horse and mounted up, gave me one quick look of reassurance. I felt the color draining from my face as he rode off. What would Flauvic do when he found himself cornered? I swallowed hard.

"Countess?" said Azmus hoarsely. He squinted at me, motionless under the cold sunrise.

- - - - -

Sirkar, whose name I learned for the first time that morning, threw wide for us the doors to the royal chambers. I was too fairly out of sorts to notice much of the rooms myself, other than an invitingly functional and comfortable aspect. Our party had just gathered to kneel at a small table and gulp tea when the Prince and Princess Renselaeus, attired in night clothes and dressing robes, entered gravely after us.

Some rusting ensued – the majority issuing from my billowing ball gown – as we hastened to stand and display appropriate deference. The Princess saw Alaerec to an empire-style chair by the fire and shook head grimly.  "There's no need for court frivolities. You are tired."

We sank in unison to our respective seats. Princess Elestra thanked Sirkar for notifying them and bade him stay to listen, if he wished, which surprised me just a little. I took the time to observe Drabel, aware that everything Vidanric was doing was based on his word.

He was quite a young man. His face was most noticeably very tired, though he did have a long nose and chin as well. His hair was dark and wavy, worn long in the aristocratic style, and the color matched his eyes, though they were closed more often than not as he drank his tea. I noted too that his clothes were well-made, but common, and didn't quite match his manners and hair.

Then the Prince spoke. "We know only that our son has just returned and is taking a riding to apprehend Lord Flauvic at this moment. The details, and reasons, we hope you can explain. Is our knowledge thus far correct, Lady Meliara?"

"Yes," I said. "I know little more than yourselves. But Azmus, whom you may remember from last year, and Maro Drabel, the Marquis' informant on Flauvic's past, may end some part of our ignorance."

The couple fixed their eyes intently on the men, who in return tried to execute polite half-bows while sitting. Drabel, clearing his throat, glanced at me before beginning.

"You seem to have all been deceived as to Flauvic's true character, though unfortunately, I cannot even show surprise on the matter. You have not the knowledge of his past that I do." He set down his teacup, fingers shaking slightly from tiredness, or nerves, or both.

"It is well told that Flauvic Merindar was a page in the Sles Aldran court. I was as well. But I did not complete the training."

Here Drabel paused and caught my eyes. "Meliara Astair – Countess of Tlanth. Correct? The Marquis mentioned you. He said that you were noticing particularly unsettling, eerie sensations while in Flauvic's presence." I nodded. 

"You may have, though I know nearly nothing of the gift myself, a sensitivity, an awareness, to magic. It is Flauvic's pet and secret weapon, more powerful that the standard knife-up-the-sleeve. I saw him by chance while he practiced a spell, one using Dark magic. I barely recognized it for what it was then, but when he realized my knowledge, he made certain that just the right events occurred to send me away from Sles Aldran disgraced."

"Could you not have alerted someone? Turned Flauvic in?" said Elestra quietly.

"A discharge from the court is an irrevocable mark – one my family holds to me with shame and disgust. Not even exposing Flauvic would change that. As well, no one in Sles Aldran would lower themselves to listen to my account in the first place."

I shuddered. "So Flauvic is really master of that type of power? Dark magic?"

"It has been six years since I witnessed his ability. If he has continued to improve… I do not favor underestimating him."

No one spoke for several moments. How did one respond to such an ominous warning? I knew both the royal couple and I, at least, were trying to swallow down a sudden sense of dread.  Drabel shifted self-consciously on his cushion, likely nervous after such a long speech, regretful of the bad news he had just delivered.  Empathy prompted me to end the silence, and when neither Azmus nor the Renselaeuses spoke, I turned to my old friend.

"Azmus, how exactly did you manage to meet up with the Marquis' party? …That's one I hadn't figured on."

"It was quite a coincidence, my lady," he said slowly. "Or at least I believe it to be." He shrugged a shoulder. "The short account is that two parties riding headlong for the same destination are bound to meet up under such circumstances. Lord Vidanric knew of me as soon as I identified myself; I was anxious to tell him of the knowledge I had just – "

I interrupted Azmus with a gasp: Shevraeth appeared suddenly in the chamber doorway, his face drawn and bloodless. He motioned stiffly to dismiss his escort, who hesitated, but complied when the royal couple as well as Sirkar moved swiftly to him. Azmus, Drabel, and I rose and stood anxiously to the side. As the Renselaeuses exchanged urgent words with their son, I finally knew how frightened they had been. Elestra's face, turned upward to the taller Marquis', changed with instinct and concern at his every phrase. Alaerec leant forward and gripped his son's shoulder briefly.

They conversed for several moments, and then the Princess stepped back, and the Prince murmured one last word to Shevraeth, his eyes flitting over both Azmus and I. The Marquis attempted to clear his head with a shake, nodded once, and painstakingly tread over to the cushions to kneel. My bones ached suddenly in sympathy.

"Lady Meliara." I looked to the Princess – and become conscious that she just been watching me watch her son. Her voice became soft. "We know all we require this morning, and will gladly see our guests to some chambers. May I trust that we can count on Sirkar and yourself to see to my son's wellbeing? Take care to not let him to the stables until he's had rest. The time it takes to explain events to your satisfaction should at least be long enough to get tea and some vigor in him."

Azmus, Drabel, and the Renselaeuses filed out; the large room was now empty but for myself and the two men. Sirkar was deftly serving tea, his back to me. Shevraeth sat with his eyes lightly closed. Feeling nervous, then extremely foolish, I resolved to do what had been asked of me, nothing more, nothing… I paused where I stood, watching the lines of the Marquis' face as he took a breath of the steamy listerblossom scent. This was certainly not the time to speak out such a distracting, personal revelation.

So I resolved.

I paced over to a cushion facing his and kneeled, with some little trouble; my gown simply wanted to billow and rustle and almost puff into his lap. It did have the effect of opening his eyes and bringing a very faint smile to his lips. He silently handed me a fresh cup of tea before taking the first drink of his own, then signaling a dismissal to Sirkar.

Pretending to busy myself with sipping, I scrutinized him over the rim of my cup. A bit more color in his face – if only I could trace the lines of weariness in his face with my fingers, make them disappear…

I realized I had been staring – just as he looked up from his tea quizzically. "Something wrong?"

Stammering, I said, "No. I, well. You look dreadful – ah, dreadfully tired, I mean to say –"

His eyelids flickered with humor at this. "So worried I'll pass out, or perhaps dash for the stables, that you must keep me firmly fixed in your sights at all times, I gather?"

I sputtered into my tea – then caught his expression, and laughed. "Of course! I must do as I was told."

"Then I suppose now _I_ must attempt to relate a comprehendible version of recent events," he said, setting down his teacup.

I leaned forward intently. "Was anyone hurt? Where's Flauvic?"

"Everyone is alright. For the moment, anyway, though things are still quite far from over. As for Flauvic's whereabouts, I just sincerely wish I knew."

"He's missing?" I said, shocked. "Was the house just deserted when you got there? I should've known he'd leave Athanarel as soon as – "

"The house was not deserted," he interrupted. "Though the outcome would have been the same if it had been, in general respects. We encircled the grounds, were even able to make our way inside the house without raising awareness. I located and confronted Flauvic personally. But – "  He stopped, then spoke on flatly. "There was nothing we possessed with which to fight him."

"How – so he used magic in front of you!"

He grimaced. "You could say as much," he said, unconsciously putting a hand to his ribs. I stared, and then looked up at him, startled.

"You said everyone was alright," I charged him.

"We are," he said firmly. "I am. I'm sitting here talking to you. Not bleeding, not dying. Moving a little stiffly, I'll admit, but I can't see that I'm much worse off than that… When we cornered Flauvic, he seemed to realize that the whole of the country would soon know of his secrets and plots. He was able to conjure up something – a whirlwind of fog and light – to disappear. Just before he was gone, he sent me a small token of his sentiments. Hit me in the ribs, there was no chance of blocking it."

Here I must have looked alarmed, for he said, "It could not have been a very powerful spell. I was dizzy for a few moments, but then all the fog and light lifted away. I reckon that spell has only the result of startling one's opponent, and leaving them with the pleasant after-effects of aching bones and heavy eyelids."

I shook my head at his light tone. "It's a good thing your parents can still order you take time to rest. What do you need to be riding off for in such hurry anyway?"

"Azmus, as well as my own spies, have found that Arthal Merindar and Grumareth have chosen now to strike. As soon as things are organized, I'll ride out to settle the matter, hopefully to some little surprise on their side. Azmus also uncovered a bit of knowledge my own people missed... Though I'm afraid I don't think you will enjoy the hearing."

I waited for him to go on. He said, "On a road heading for the mountain forests, Azmus by chance discovered the plotters' devised method to pay their mercenaries. Disguised as wagons full of paving stones, there are even now loads of dried kinthus being moved towards the colorwood forests."

"The Hill Folk!" I yelped. I made to turn and scramble to my feet. His strong, slender hand shot out to catch my elbow and still me, however, before I could rise above a kneel.

"I've already arranged for riders to intercept the wagons," he explained quickly, looking as if he needed to justify his hold on my elbow.

I shook my head. "If the riders aren't able to neutralize the kinthus in time – I should go now to warn the Hill Folk. I'm probably the only person inside a week's ride that knows how so well."

"You needn't. The riders have my complete confidence – "

"Mine as well! But I have the knowledge to make something important turn out right for once – I can't sit here and do nothing. If the Hill Folk were harmed and I could have prevented it…"

After a moment the worry in his face seemed to carefully smooth itself away. He took his hand from my arm. "You must do as you believe. I merely… The thought of you flinging yourself headlong into this conflict senselessly is unbearable."

"I have to do what I can! Are you just trying to remind me that I'm ill-trained to defend myself against anything save a flock of stray sheep? Or – " I caught my tongue. I really didn't want to start my belligerence with him again. Not now, after everything.

He replied, "No. I simply do not think I need to recall you to the scar on your ankle to remind you that you have been seriously injured in the past. You've been hurt before, you could be hurt again."

"As could you!" I said hotly.

He stared at me. Then through me. And then I realized what I had just said, and wondered for a nervous moment how he would reply – Or had I just given my feelings away? Would that be so very bad, if he found out right now?

He just held up his hands, a wry look of acceptance on his face. "Alright. I will not try to persuade you stay where it's safe, especially when I would not offer to do so myself."

And then he smiled slightly, his eyes on my own. For the first time that day they seemed truly warm, relaxed. I knew how very alive and expressive they could be, when he chose, and when we were both sitting, they were only slightly above my own. His smile too was real, and understanding, the corners of his mouth deep now. And I saw, so near, how soft his lips looked – something I would have cringed at a year ago.

His face then changed, subtly but with meaning. He was still. The smile was replaced by parted lips, and he watched my face with a tender concentration. I knew I had to say something, but my thoughts swirled slowly, and my eyes stayed fixed on his.

Then I realized that it didn't really matter what I said. It was what the words would mean to him that would make all the difference.

The air hung heavy between us still, and then I reached instinctively through it to place my hand to his chest. For reality, for aid; I could feel every rapid beat of his heart, the warmth of his tunic against my palm.

"Vidanric," I said softly. His eyes grew wider and deep, and my heart began to hammer. "Will you now… Tell me, what was that area of life in which I have still to educate myself?"

He leant infinitesimally closer, and his chest expanded warm against my hand as he took a breath; his lips began to form the word that I already knew. But I didn't need to make that discovery over. I needed him to know what I felt. So I leaned forward and covered his lips with my own.

There was one nervous jolt, at that first touch when my stomach turned over – but then he was pressing back against me, sweetly and with a passion that made my skin tingle. He tilted his head and brushed his lips against mine again and again and I floated away and met him each time. I shivered as his fingers traced a slow line along my jaw, then drew back to curl in the hair behind my ear.

He pulled away and we sat breathing and looking at each other. "Mel," he said softly. His eyes were bright. "Please tell me that – that wasn't just to satisfy our wager."

I laughed and blushed at once, and sounded out a ringing "no". His chest swelled, and the next thing I knew he was pulling my face close, dotting kisses from my brow to my cheek to my lips, I curled my arms around his neck, returning the kisses that started as light as a brush of wind and grew in force until I could hear my own summer thunder. Eventually we separated to breathe, my lips moist and tingling. Vidanric leaned his forehead against mine, looked at me like he never wanted to be farther than an arm's length away again.

He touched my cheek with the back of his hand. "Your face is so warm," he remarked.

I grinned. "So is yours," I said, running the tips of my fingers along his cheekbone, lightly grazing his flushed lips. He caught my hand and kissed it, then sat back and returned my smile.

"I guess you already know about this, then," he said. From his back pocket he pulled his riding gloves, then turned them over; from one of the fingers fell my ekirth ring, and he caught it and slid it on.

"Mmm," I said, nodding. "Yesterday I took Bran to see the pictures of our mother's ancestors. When I was touring the rest of the gallery again by myself, I saw the portrait of your ancestor, wearing a ring that looked, ah, rather familiar." He laughed at my lightness, then sobered.

"Were you very distressed when you found out? That I was your 'Unknown', I mean?"

I said, "I was surprised – I can't tell you how very surprised. And then I just wanted to find you, so we could straighten everything out, but you were away, and all this happened, and I couldn't think how to tell you…" I waved my hands.

"Your method was most satisfactory," he said, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "I assure you."

I couldn't think of anything to say to that, so I blushed and looked away, and caught sight of the rising sun through the window.

"How could I forget – we don't have time to waste!" I started to struggle to my feet. Vidanric got up gracefully – though somewhat slowly, I noted – and helped me up.

"Don't fret. Sirkar's probably just now finished repacking my saddlebags," he told me.

"You're sure you feel well enough to ride?" I asked, peering up at his face.

He leaned close. "Right now," he said, "I feel well enough to do just about anything." He kissed me softly. "Once you're changed and have your gear, come to the stables. We'll be waiting for you."

I had never dressed so quickly.

- - - - -

AN: Waaah! Screams of joy, sighs of relief. Chapter 5 is complete! Did you ever think this moment would come? Did you? Actually, don't answer that.

Heh, well. Time for comments and thanks. There are many this time around!

First, a huge round of applause for all you lovely reviewers! To denote your awesomeness and spiffy vibes, I list your names here: Starlight77, Legofiance, Darkness Echo, Altheas of Elessar, Dumbledore's Heir, MysticRainbow, ...., Rundiamhair, starbrush, StarGirl98, Sailacel, FelSong, PhoenixMage, Rane292007, thekeeperofwords, Rhiannon Blume Freeman, Queen's Own, Posy, Autumn Faery, Margery, chutney, mooseyfate, Squirrel Maiden of Green, Wake-Robin, SoccerFreak2516, and Danric-Lover.

You Rock! – Also, double thanks for my awesome proof-readers Jackie and Felicia! (I can always use more, if anyone feels like it.)

Next, comments. Actually, whiny-sounding apologies. I totally realize it's been, about, umm… let's just say, a really, really, really long time since I updated. The main reason for that is me procrastinating. You know when you have something all planned out in your head, but then when you go to write it, it just doesn't seem to flow? Yeah, that's this chapter. I tend to get writer's block big time when I'm afraid I'll totally screw up a scene I really want to turn out well. My other random excuses include pit orchestra, school, job training, school, getting new computers, school, and… I said school, right?...

Chapter 6: Hope to have it done by the end of July. It may be the end, or if I can't fit in everything, there might be a chapter 7. Another big plot element is developing, there are some hints of it in this chapter.

So let's see… last thing! Review Begging Time! How was this chapter? Was everyone in character? Out of character? (Noooo!) How was the Big Fluff Moment? Fluffy enough for ya? Or too fluffy? Did it seem like I rushed through all the plot stuff to get to it? cough Let me know your thoughts, all you generous, loyal, forgiving (hint, hint) reviewers! (Criticisms are certainly most welcome. :-)

Shannon


	6. Campaign

In the Rain – Chapter 6

Disclaimer: See first chapter.

Point of View: Meliara

- - - - -

The first leg of our ride out of Remalna-city was not a pleasant one. Even the tenderness that fluttered in my stomach for Vidanric—rising to pound joyfully in my heart whenever I should glance over at him—could not bar the aches and jolts and chills of those hours. Now the sun lingered pale behind rolling gray clouds. Winds from the east whooshed in my ears over the rumble of our mounts' hooves, and damp leaves slapped against their parent boughs in an eerie, continuous rhythm.

Eventually we judged to need a change of horses. The party thudded to a stop at the entrance to the a small town's stables and I gratefully clambered to the ground, peripherally aware of handing my reins to a swift stable boy. I rubbed my clammy hands together, the wind tugging at my cloak as I waited for Vidanric to finish addressing the riding guards. Soon the riders moved off, following a stable hand around the low building.

"Let's get indoors," Vidanric said, nodding to the attached inn. At the entryway he opened the door, catching it as it buffeted slightly in the wind, and waited for me to precede him inside.

A young woman with braided brown hair and a crisp white apron greeted us in the main room. "Needin' a room to rest in, sir, miss?"

Shaking out my damp hat, I saw across the vacant room several cozy piles of cushions around a warm hearth. Vidanric glanced at me and followed my gaze.

"This will do," he assured the girl, drawing a coin pouch from his pocket and handing it to her. "The rest of our party should join us shortly from the stables—we'll need plenty of food and drink, as well. Thank you." The girl exited through a door in the back wall, her braid swinging with each bouncing step. Vidanric turned back to me, holding out his arm.

I accepted, quirking a look as he conducted me the short distance to the cushions. "Formalities, even now?"

His eyes crinkled tiredly. "I find them rather steadying in times like these," he admitted, sinking to his own cushion. I settled myself across from him, scrunching a face as I felt my joints grind into the new position.

Vidanric's brows snapped together. "Hurting?" he asked, looking at me closely.

"I feel like a battering ram that went up against a castle and lost." I rolled my neck, stiff and knotted from the ride.

He winced, offering, "I've found it pains doubly so when one has gotten out of the routine of daily riding."

"I believe it," I said, shrugging.

Vidanric made a soft noise of sympathy in his throat. "Here." He took up my left hand in one of his own and turned it palm up, smoothing it with his free hand. Glancing up at my puzzled expression, he paused to explain, "The pressure points of the hand can be used to affect the body's muscles, and relieve pain. Was a fad in Colend when I visited."

"I see—How does it work?" I asked keenly. Watching his hands with interest, I felt some of the cogs in my tired brain start cranking again.

"Well, every area of the hand—and foot, as well, though not as conveniently employed—is said to be connected to an organ or muscle." I nodded, and he went on. "This area," he said, tracing the outer edge of my smallest finger and on down my palm, "affects the neck. Others are connected to the back, stomach, heart… and so on," he finished delicately.

I grinned at him. "I'd wager the Colendi use this for more than just healing, then."

Vidanric just shook his head and bent over my hand, the corners of his eyes crinkling. I sat quietly for a few moments as he kneaded warm circles into my skin. A loose piece of his hair dangled smoothly against his cheek, and the added shadow made his face look more drawn than I had ever seen it. I wished we could rest, there in the inn, until he had his full energy back—but I knew there was nothing for it.

I settled for brushing the piece of hair away from his face. "The next phase of the ride—what should I know?"

"You already know best how and where to reach the Hill Folk, so the route you take is yours to choose. An escort will ride with you, of course," he added.

I made a puckered face. "An escort? You'll need all the riders you can get, and I'll just be riding the main thoroughfares, then some little mountain trails…" He gave me a stern look before finishing my left palm with a caressing motion, next taking up my right hand.

I sighed. "Okay, okay. And I know which forests are nearest, so I guess that's set."

"Good," he murmured. Eventually he finished my second hand the same way as the first, leaving my fingers loose and tingling.

"Better?"

"Very much so," I said. I moved my neck and rolled my shoulders to show him, then squeezed his hand. He squeezed back, giving me a wry smile.

"Um—ahem." A slight cough told us that the young woman had returned. Quickly setting down her laden tray, she said, "Your party will be inside in a matter of moments, sir, miss." Looking anywhere but Vidanric and blushing rosily, she scampered from the room, her braid fluttering after her.

Half-raising an eyebrow, Vidanric turned to look bemusedly at me. I smothered a laugh. "Seems you've acquired _another_ admirer—and on my watch, too!" I exclaimed, attempting a scowl. He shook his head, looking amused, and I added playfully, "I'll just have to see that the competition doesn't get the better of me."

I leaned close, feeling my spirits buoy lighter than they had in hours. A light peck to his cheek would have satisfied my motives, but Vidanric, looking as though it had just struck him that we'd be parting within the time change, caught my lips for a deep kiss.

Pulling back, he looked at me seriously. "When all… _this_… is over… " He trailed off, but the sincerity in his tone made up for what words could never capture. "When this is over, we'll have time… time for building something new, instead of just clearing away the old messes. Not just for the kingdom, but for _us._"

"Good," I said, taking pleasure in murmuring the word back to him.

He looked at me, and his thumb running lightly along my jaw, brushed the softest of kisses against my cheek, and then we were quiet until the others joined us.

- - - - -

My escort and I were soon slogging up the muddy, rocky mountain trails that lead to the forests of the Hill Folk. Our heavy mounts had been replaced and we now rode the sturdy mountain ponies I knew from childhood. The three riders who accompanied me, Jarnal, Fridric, and Lisma, made their approval evident as we made two days and nights of steady progress towards the fir-covered hills fringing the horizon.

On the third morning my tired, itchy eyes squinted the base of a familiar rocky outcropping.

"Alright," I said, my voice sounding gravelly in my ears. Fridric, the youngest of the riders, had been waiting for my alert.

"Ai! Lisma, Jarnal!" he called. The two who had been riding guard in the rear urged their mounts forward and drew up to us, where we formed a tight circle.

"We are here, then," observed Jarnal, his dark eyes darting watchfully between the trees.

"Yes," I said. "I should be able contact the Hill Folk from just off the trail, within their forest."

"Very good, my lady," agreed Lisma, the leader of the three. She tucked a piece of her curling blonde hair back under her helm and flit a gesture with her hand. "Lead on."

I paused, somewhat embarrassed. "I thought I might call them on my own, return to you afterwards." Lisma frowned, so I explained, "To reach them, I need to sing."

"Sing?" repeated Fridric, leaning forward in his saddle.

"Yes, and as for my talent, it's pretty much nonexistent… Or it has at least done quite a good job of disguising itself from my few unfortunate listeners."

Fridric grinned, but Jarnal said seriously, "This is not a recital in Athanarel Hall. We must be wary for one another's safety."

"Besides, a bit of caterwauling might wake us up, eh?" Fridric teased, somehow still good natured when bone-weary.

"I'm afraid that settles it, my lady," Lisma said crisply. She firmed a new grip on her reins and nodded, so I had nothing to do but resign myself and lead the way into the trees.

I only hoped Danric was so well protected.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Point of View: Vidanric

- - - - -

The Marquise was completely pale in the face—so furious that her irises twitched and shook.

I thought it to be a perfectly reasonable reaction, however. She did have a half dozen flashing swords pointed at her throat.

Looking away from her, I swept a glance around the tent, my expression especially bland, as I hoped to avoid inciting her into any further reckless actions. The shadowy room was now filled with loyal riders bearing the crowned sun of Remalna on their tunics, handpicked for their skill in chaotic situations. In a nearby corner sat Fialma, also surrounded by several riders, but she was apparently only sulking harmlessly from a cushion and staring at the ground. The Duke of Grumareth was nowhere to be found, though Barons Chaskar and Hurnaev and Baroness Orgalion had been apprehended with ease, uttering foolish squeaks of fear at our arrival before falling silent and meek.

From outside the tent I could hear the muffled sounds of hooves and running feet and the shout of orders from the riding leaders. It sounded as though they had already fanned out and secured the majority of the Marquise's camp, but, if my plans for a swift capture had failed…

I turned quickly to address Captain Courin, the leader of this special force. "See that these women are removed to the secure area. I must leave you to see—"

"Not so hasty," the Marquise hissed. She seemed to have regained her composure, at least enough to twist a coherent word or two from her traitorous mouth. The guards surrounding her tensed and glanced at me.

"Hasty is not the word, my lady," I said tonelessly. "Expeditious are our actions. Someone with your reverence for ambition should have learnt to recognize a wise endeavor long ago."

Her lips twisted. "Such a speech from you. I've not forgotten those many years you spent, acting the fool—a dandy fop! And my brother believed it—until your treachery opened his eyes and thrust a sword between his ribs. You imagine your honor," she spat, narrowing her eyes at me. "It will be a stolen throne you sit upon."

Maintaining a blank expression—she clearly desired no response, or at least not the one I was tempted to give—I gave a curt nod and signaled my leave to the commanding officers, turning to leave the tent and the sight of the Marquise's rigid, hate-filled features. But a stride from the canvas door my ears stung with a sharp noise. Eerie, throbbing hacks—of laughter. As my every muscle tensed and I spun back around, the laughter was joined by a heavy thump and the shocked voices of the riders guarding the Marquise. My eyes snapped back to her—downward, for she now knelt on the ground as if her knees had suddenly given way.

"Farewell… _my king_," the Marquise rasped, biting off stilted words. The veins of her face were engorged and throbbing but she glared through the pain. A moment later a tiny _clink_ sounded and I spied, too late, a needle on the ground, and a trail of blood mixed with poison coating the vanquished's wrist.

_Suicide_.

A few quick strides and I was at the tent wall, thrusting open the rough canvas and bellowing for a healer.

And thoughtlessly disregarding any further danger waiting at my back.

Barely had I opened my lips than I heard a shout from behind me and felt a soft glance, like a chill wind, dart just by my neck. At once I turned, finding myself almost nose to nose with Fialma—she had lunged at me. Gripping her bony shoulders with alacrity, I was surprised when she merely stood lifelessly in my grasp, looking down and faintly muttering. She made no further attempts to brain me—but had she done so in the first place?

As a pair of guards hurried forward and seized their charge—looking suitably abashed to have overlooked her in the commotion—one pointed wordlessly behind me. There, stuck in the tent-cloth at a height just above my shoulder, was a delicate silver needle. I moved closer to examine it: hollow, identical to the Marquise's own, it now oozed a honey-colored venom. As the deadly stain lazily trailed its way down the canvas a cold dread wrenched my stomach. I numbly ran my fingers across the skin above my collar, certain to find a gash dripping warm blood and hot poison, knowing I was done for as I soon as I felt the burning, open flesh lacerated by that dart.

But I never felt it. I touched skin, solid and whole.

So I dropped my hand and clenched tight my composure, letting my eyes flicker across the canvas door in an assessing manner for a moment. A deep breath through my nose and I was quickly delivering orders to the waiting riders.

"Someone see this canvas disposed of and replaced. My riders, follow me." I glanced at the ground where the now prone Marquise lay motionless in a circle of boots, adding, "After the Healer does what possible, move as earlier instructed." I nodded to Courin to transfer command. His eyes were steady and his bristly gray beard twitch with a grim look as he saluted.

Stepping outside—making careful use of the tent flap _not_ coated in poison—I readjusted my commander's helm to better survey the camp, waiting for the assemblage of the half-dozen men who broke off to form my personal guard. From this vantage point, I assessed, things seemed to be going well, no nearby fighting or bloodshed—but that told me little. In truth, there was no one about except the wary horse hands. I could see only row after row of tents—peaks of brown, tan, gray cloth, the colors of one who wishes to adapt to whichever party will pay the highest. On foot and boxed in is never a choice lookout point, and as this was exactly the vantage the Merinders had settled on for their camp, the last of my surprise at their easy capture dropped away.

Now the six guards who would accompany me emerged from the tent and waited for orders, hands ready on hilts. I nodded to the nearest horse hand, a young blonde fellow who clicked his tongue nervously as he led our mounts over, squinting from the fierce sun as he looked at me for further instructions.

"That's all," I said, accepting my reins. "Balsarth, isn't it?" He nodded once, his eyes lightening slightly, and I remembered that he was one of the riding's newest recruits, too young to have been a member during the Rebellion. "Good. You all will ride out with Captain Courin's men," I said, motioning to his group of horse hands. "Remember your training. Dismissed."

Balsarth saluted, walking back to his group with a straight back and somewhat elevated expression. In years to come I would see him progress steadily through the ranks, becoming a captain himself—but that would come later, during the war that would ravage the entire continent. Now, as I swung onto my mare, a light breeze ruffled the feathers of my plumed helm; with the wind came the sounds of sharp, yet muffled noises from within the camp. The action continued deep inside the maze of tents, I guessed, if not on the far side of the rows—everything in eyesight was still, no riders or mercenaries appearing to shatter the bright calm.

Riding toward the intermittent noise, we trotted silently along the outer column of tents, glancing down each row for signs of movement. Guiding our horses carefully, we avoided the arm's length of ground directly beside the tents, for the sun created shadows between those cloth walls that would easily hide a lurking enemy. My priority was not, of course, to duel with every lackwit who had jumped eagerly into this plot, but to make sure that the men who did have that duty would not follow commands of false strategy, or of disorder, or of unwise judgment.

Noise struck my ear once more… a scuffling of boots, a shout, then silence. "Blades out," I advised, and seven pieces of steel slid from their holders. Another sound—more shouting—a bellowed command. Then a heavy rhythm, growing rapid.

We urged our mounts forward. Again, we passed a row of tents, our eyes all sharpened to the space between—_movement_. Tensing, swords raised in the sun, we saw a single rider, at first obscured by dust and distance, galloping straight at us. He charged forward under the squares of light and shadow created by the tent rows, turning his livery black-white, black-white. Finally, as he hurtled to within a hundred paces of our group, I squinted the golden sigil of a messenger flashing on his chest, and, no longer awash in darkness or piercing light, the tan and green livery of Remalna.

"Messenger, to whom do you ride?" I called, slipping my blade back into its holder. My guards remained at the ready, two turning to secure our back.

The messenger pulled hard on his reins, he and his horse panting to a stop just in front of our group. He grinned.

"You, your grace," he said, mopping his brow quickly with a handkerchief. I stared at him as he continued to smile, taking his time in replacing the handkerchief in a pocket and pushing a few of his curling brown hairs from his face. After a moment he blinked, seeming to notice my expression, and hastily handed me a note with the seal of the regular force commander. "After you read the note, follow me and I'll lead ya right to 'em," said the messenger heartily. "Just 'round a few bends is all. Saved me a ride, you did, coming this far into the action. Didn't rightly expect that. Your grace," he added quickly.

I slit open the message and scanned the few sentences:

_ Operation a success. Denlieff and garrison commanders captured, nearly all mercenaries as well._

_ Main force now guarding prisoners; four patrols scouting landscape._

_ Mssgr. Dirksen to lead to our location._

_ Rosilinar_

When I looked up, six pairs of eyes were trained impatiently on mine. (Dirksen was now fanning himself and idly patting his tired horse.)

I tucked the note away, hiding my surge of relief. "It's good news, men. Messenger Dirksen, lead on."

- - - - -

"Renselaeus!" A booming shout jarred the tightly-wound atmosphere of the newly captured camp. Rosilinar, the commanding officer, appeared by my horse with a salute and a laughing toss of his head, black eyes dancing from within his crinkling, sun-browned face. Barely pausing for me to slide from the saddle, he grabbed up the mare's reins and strode off in his heavy trot toward a far tent, shouting orders to several soldiers as he passed. Always in good spirits after a victorious campaign, never able to stem the flow of energy from his limbs when delighted, he would no doubt be doubly imbued with vigor today. Glancing over one wide shoulder, he called, "What a sight for these old, tired eyes, eh? First we're off to Council, plenty of details for you to pen, no doubt. Good man, couldn't have planned that operation better myself."

"We should send your messenger back to Courin with details and an escort," I reminded him, removing my helmet and matching his strides.

"Oh, yes, of course. Dirksen will handle it. Good man," Rosilinar rumbled approvingly. "You there, some orders…" He paused to relay instructions, deposit the mare, and heave a jovial pat on the back of the nearest rider. "Renselaeus? Ah, there you are," he said, his head spinning quickly on wide shoulders. "Wouldn't want to lose Your Grace in this scene, I wouldn't. Not that it's as hectic as it seems, of course," he said, continuing to thud down a row filled with a pair of hurrying soldiers in the Renselaeus colors, several horse hands with stallions in tow, and a short line of silent mercenaries flanked by guards. "Yes, yes, things are falling right into place, don't you agree? Eh?"

I glanced around, then rather pointedly back at him. "I'll defer to your greater experience in the matter, if I may."

Rosilinar laughed. "Yes, yes, to each his own expertise, I say. And with that in mind, perhaps you'll make my excuses for not joining you inside?" he said, nodding as we stopped in front of a tent, two riders stationed at its entrance. "Never could stand these pointless hash-outs with the commanders. Boring as all get-out."

"You're of more use out here," I agreed, remembering past meetings filled with Rosilinar's continual pen-tapping, barked comments, and suggestions for breaks to "check up on the men… and maybe take a quick walk, and find some fresher coffee".

He clapped me on the back and strode off toward the center of camp.

I shook my head, fighting the upward twitching of my lips, and called after him, "You may be called in to consult as we finish up, of course."

Once more, he just boomed out a laugh. "Don't you try to ruin my good mood now, Renselaeus."

- - - - -

Four days later, only half a candle past noon, and I was already reaching for the day's eighth cup of coffee. The nine operation commanders (including Rosilinar) and I were still working out where everyone from mercenaries to barons to their captors would be dismissed, how, and when. I swirled the hot, dark liquid in my cup, hoping this would be the last piece of business, the final day of talks. Too long we had been deciding and reconsidering, penning and repenning orders—careful minds balancing hearts restless to be home.

Courin glanced up, laying down his pen on a tall stack of documents. "All the west ridings' orders hashed out, then."

"I'd say that's the last thing anyone can think of, right, men?" Rosilinar was abruptly on his feet, stretching. Courin's moustache twitched, but no one spoke any objection. I closed my eyes with thankfulness, suddenly inexplicably weary—even the muscles of my eyelids ached with dull, random twitches. "All right then," Rosilinar continued, "a break for the rest of the afternoon, I think. Well, for you all, I suppose, I can't be lolling around in a nice tent myself, not when there's a camp to be charge of. Meet back here after dinner, perhaps—Renselaeus?"

I opened my eyes, needing to wait a moment for the blurry image of the exiting commanders and a questioning Rosilinar to focus itself. Even after I could see sharply, Rosilinar's face looked strange. Vaguely puzzled, I nodded shortly and turned away as I got to my feet.

When I turned back, Rosilinar was still there, alone, blocking the exit.

"Yes, commander?"

Rosilinar didn't smile—his brows knitted and ridged together, making him appear angry to one who didn't know his habitual good nature.

"Renselaeus, you've had about six more cups of coffee than anyone else at the blasted meeting today," he said quickly, gruffly. "I don't know why, in any case, stuff can't be working, you still look like you're awake by sheer force of will—I could knock you to the ground right now, and finding yourself laying down, you'd take a nap in the dirt!"

"I hope you don't, then," I said blandly.

"Well, then," he said, frustrated, "tell me I'm not right."

I frowned. "We've all been working hard, and as the one in charge, does it not translate that I'd be more tired than all others?"

"Well, yes—"

"Then why the confrontation? Do I look bad enough you expect I'll drop dead in the next candle? I admit, I haven't looked in a mirror in the past few days…"

Rosilinar groaned, then shook his head. "Look, it's obvious I'm not going to get some kind of admission out of you, now, but you should know that, your state… some of the other commanders have noticed as well, and they haven't even known you as long as I."

I closed my eyes briefly, thinking, and when I opened them again, the same blurry effect happened as before. I bit the inside of my cheek in frustration, but to Rosilinar, I just nodded. "Do you suppose if I went back to my tent and took a rest, everyone would feel more easy?"

"Yes, yes. Just the thing!"

"Good. Then you might unblock the door?"

"Hah! Course," he said, holding open the tent flap and following me outside. "I'll even make sure you get right to your tent, no interruptions, questions, surprises—"

"No surprises at all?" asked a voice from behind me. "Then I'm afraid I've already ruined your promise."

"Pardon?" said Rosilinar. We turned around and I saw a familiar, rosy, smiling face.

"Meliara!"

- - - - -

AN:

1. A thousand thanks and praises to the lovely, amazingly patient reviewers who have made me feel nothing but happy (with a needed prod of guilt here and there, as is well deserved) since this fic began. A huge round of applause for the wonderful: Wake-Robin, Starlight77, Adalon Ithilriel, FelSong, Squirrel Maiden of Green, mooseyfate, Sailacel, cai, PhoenixMage, Koli Chale, SarcasticMsEm, Mystical-Eternity, Jowa, Queen's Own, mysticdreamer42, Lady Fate, Knight-whosays-ni, Legofiance, Paige, kayleigh, siriusforeva, elra of mirkwood, naomi, the eggplant tyrant, Lady Belaqua, Sheyana, lady sweetz, grimreaperkitty, FoREvEr ends, minichibi, and mistressofhawks!

2. Final sentence, first scene: An extra huge "thank you!" also goes out to the awesome FelSong for beta-ing this chapter for me, and for suggesting an integral part of this sentence. You rock!

I know this chapter probably had less Mel/Danric stuff than you'd like, and more military stuff and original characters. Thank you all for bearing with me while I suffered through some very major writing block (not this chapter, really, but the next couple, had me fairly worried, and now I finally have an idea of what to write). But now Mel & Dan are back together!

Thank you all so much for your kind comments and encouragement, as well as tips for improving my writing and getting the characters in-character. All comments are welcome!


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